#getting light headed when I went from reclined sitting to upright sitting and stretching

[sodacowboy]

fun sort of chaos today

[rouiyan]

hmm im quite new to tumblr and honestly am dissapointed with the lack of GOOD doyoung fics on here. can I request a scenario or a drabble (whichever u see fit) of doyoung taking me along when 127 were touring and the moments we had (backstage/fights and making up/ comforting when he felt unsatisfied with his perfomance/moments with some other members too) I just miss 127 touring a lot !! and ofc if this is too complicated u can refuse lol

hey lovely, this ended up way longer than it should have been but it’s really just a bunch of drabbles strung together that have somewhat coherence to another. i liked the way it turned out though and i hope that you do too <3 

𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 — idol!doyoung x (gender neutral) reader ✧ genres : established relationship, fluff, angst ✧ word count : 4.7k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, food

synopsis — snapshots of what it's like to travel with your boyfriend. oh an his nine other teammates.

“how much space do you have left there?”

doyoung peers over you, chin propped atop your shoulder, and even though he sees for himself quite plainly, you supply him with an answer anyways, “not much, just the front pocket now.” his chin digs and you shift your head the slightest in his direction, to appease him with your attention maybe. he doesn’t budge nor speak so you take it upon yourself. “what?”

“quick kiss?”

plucking the garment from the assortment of items he'd passed along, you inspect it with curious eyes, "you gonna wear this?"

"huh? oh, that." he sits back on his knees, then onto his bottom, then crossing his legs, "i thought i'd give sleeveless a try." you don't mean for it to come out offensively, rather teasingly in actuality, "you?"

unbothered, he simply muses on, "yeah, me. why?" with eyes rushed and flitting across his surroundings for a sight of his phone. now you're even less in the intent of offending him, more so just pushing his buttons in the face of humor, a humor that's evident in the way you glance up from the tee, eyes locking with his own and shadowing with mischief, "with what muscles?"

doyoung clicks his tongue, sticks it into the side of his cheek, and now back on his knees, treads over to where you're sat, countenance teeming with amusement. his demeanor himself traces in the slight of a smile that's yet to appear, only held back as he defends his biceps, "hey, i've been working out, you know." you watch him situate himself once again, legs crossing just opposite of your own. placing both your hands on both his knees, you lean in, lips puckered and nose scrunched either in emphasis or hilarity, he isn't quite sure though he thinks it's cute. that is, until you speak again, "you want your kiss? how bout now?" and he mirrors with an, "i'll pass," standing to retreat back into the hunt for his missing phone, head shaking all the while at your devious antics.

minutes later and upon finding it within the folds of his sheets, doyoung reverts his attention back to you who, by the looks of it, has just finished packing for the night with both sides of your suitcase clamped shut but yet to be zipped. his feet are planted firm on the ground when you move to stand in between them. they're off the ground a moment later when you push him back into the bed with an 'umph' and a hug that pulls both your bodies flush against each other's.

you'd go on about it for days but to you, doyoung has always been a silent lover. a kind of lover that people would mistake as just 'a friend of yours' or sometimes even a brother, cousin, relative of the sorts. by no means is he vocal with his love for you, and though times are abundant when you find yourself at dead ends with the thoughts of how he seemingly flits between, in and out of love, the one thing that never fails to reassure you is how he holds you tight. 

forehead on his chest and arms laced around his back, you do your best to hold him as closely as he does you but it's impossible, you think, and not because of his so-called 'muscles.' the intimacy you share with him is bred from comfort, apprehension, normality. it's apparent when he next speaks, voice lower and reserved for when you are close and the tingling feeling in his heart softens his regard a tenfold, "excited?"

you lift your head to peer up at him. the same softness is returned in your one-word response, "elated," as you thud your temple back upon his chest. the chuckles he give reverberate beneath you, "sarcasm or no?" a shake of your head is given but doyoung craves more. hands on your waist, he manhandles you, in the gentlest possible way, so that your head lies in the dip of his neck, arms around his shoulder, and legs on either side of him. he knows that at this point, your energy is already teetering the lines of consciousness. he makes the most of what little you have left.

"kiss me?"

a sloppy peck is left at the foot of his neck and your lips stay there for the rest of the night.

the wind slaps at the skin of your face. you swipe away a hair or two that it'd blown into your mouth, open as you exclaim into the wide air before you. the city air is noticeably laden with light pollution and carbon emissions alike but it's refreshing to you who has spent the greater part of the day limited to a cramped airplane seat. the shuffle of feet, a sound that's barely discernible in the mix of whizzing cars and honks, calls for your attention from behind. heeding to it, you find  doyoung, swaddled in a sizeable down coat, with his eyes squinted in the wind. "coming in soon? you've been out here yelling for almost twenty minutes."

you give him a look that makes it seem as if the situation were of a scolding mom and a naughty child. it's like you're adhering to the script because apprehensiveness does indeed rest in your wary response, "i just wanted to try it, like how they do in the dramas, you know?"

his tone chides, "yeah, yeah i know," while dragging you back inside the warmth of the hotel room, sitting you atop the bed, crouching before you. "doyoung, what are you-" though bizarre, the prospect of a ring emerging from behind his back does cross your mind. instead, he draws forth a bottle of wine.

you comment on it a little later, four hours, with jaehyun sprawled upon the bed to your left, snores loud and resounding in between the sentences of your hushed (and very much drunken) conversation. "you know, earlier when you brought out the wine, i thought you were actually going to propose to me." under the lamplight from the bedside table, your boyfriend's cheeks are tinged a soft pink, flusteredness maybe, inebriation surely. his head slops forwards onto your stomach, off and out of the hold of his palm, and lolls there for awhile before his dwindling bouts of energy jolt him upright. the sudden movement of his elbows digging into your abdomen have you groaning until a light smack is landed on his forehead. doyoung gives you a sleazy smile.

"maybe."

suddenly you're very much sobered up. "what'd you say?" though doyoung is still very much intoxicated as his head tumbles down upon your stomach once more, mumbling against your skin, "i did bring a ring to surprise you. i don't know if now's the time though, what do you think?" you don't think, in fact, you are completely and utterly void of thoughts. his, "hm?" pulsates from beneath you but even then, you're at a loss of words.

"i think—" i think yes. "i think you ought to go to sleep." 

when you will your eyes upon his figure, perhaps a minute later, you find that per your instruction, he's already fast asleep.

the flight from jakarta to london is 15 hours (too) long and you'd planned to spend a good chunk of it doing what you were doing now, seat reclined the furthest possible and knees brought up to your chest to prop up your switch. you'd come to the conclusion that packing your earbuds in your suitcase that went into cargo was perhaps your first big mistake; your second, forgetting to ask doyoung for his before he fell asleep. with the volume turned to mute for the past four hours and counting, you scrunch your nose as your animal crossing character silently stumbles across another wasp-laden tree, third in a row, but before you're able to net it, your boyfriend stirs from beside you, his fingers tapping incessantly on your wrist to call for your attention. you glance over at him, "what?" and when you glance back to the screen, you're displeased, to say the least, to see that your character now has a swollen eye, courtesy of the wasp and its programmed sting.

the look on your face when you drop your feet to the ground, the device dropping to your lap, is enough to get doyoung to cut straight to the point. "i need to brush my teeth, wanna come with me?" puzzlement clouds your expression and he furthers in explanation, "you know, to save time?" still not quite getting his point, you nod along anyways, thinking a little walk and stretch to the bathroom wouldn't hurt. "okay." 

taking his outstretched hand, the journey to the bathroom turns out to to be the most stressful. the whole row of three very tall men (jungwoo, jaehyun, and johnny in that order) with their very long legs making the situation a lot more complicated than need be. you end up tripping once over jungwoo's left foot, twice over jaehyun's right shoe, and thrice over johnny's right knee, a lot higher than where any normal knee should mark when planted straight on the ground.

the lock on the lavatory clicks shut behind you right when you realize just how small the compartment is. doyoung closes the toilet lid and props a knee upon it, leaving you with enough space to place your legs shoulder-length wide at most. you look over at him, or rather, you tilt your head slightly to the right and chuckle into the fabric of his hoodie, his chest pressed into your face. you manage between your chuckles, "go on, brush your teeth." 

his arms bustle their way around and about you to grab at one of the packaged toothbrushes at the left of the sink and a paper cup at the right. there really is no way around it though a moment later, he relents by taking both legs upon the toilet seat to accommodate you. his kneeling stance stunts his height so that you're at about eye level with him. "here," you pass along the toothpaste and he flicks a dot of it on the brush. instead of stretching over to the sink, he simply passes along the toothbrush for you to run under water, passes the cup for you to do the same, and accepts them back with grateful hands. "you know, this would've been a lot more efficient if you'd just gone by yoursel—"

"i know," he says it as if unimpressed, though it sounds more like 'iiroe' (or some other incoherent keyboard spam) as he continues to brush his teeth. you prop your hands upon your hips, both elbows hitting opposing walls and a teasing lilt is added to your voice, "are you mad you brought me along?" you're not sure if he's smiling or if he's simply following through with his teeth-washing regimen. doyoung shakes his head, "no." you smile at that.

you know for a fact that he's smiling when the two of you switch spots, quite the haphazard move for your head clunks onto an overhanging cabinet while his back is then subjected to half your falling weight. a hand of yours is quick to clamp over his mouth right when you gather your bearings because his laughs come out loud in between panting breaths. you're terrified at the thought of being caught by a passing stewardess who'd suspected two people and some funny business upon breaking in, only to find two people, yes, but one brushing teeth on the closed toilet lid and the other laughing hysterically with a hand clutching his sore back. 

doyoung backs out of the bathroom at first alone, head snapping left and right in a spy-in-a-secret-agent-movie-esque way, before tugging you behind him, the folding door clapping shut. he waits as you prod careful steps over the three soundly sleeping men and he grins when his turn comes and he epically fails in his attempt to cross over in one, sweeping step. he apologizes sheepishly at the three, now awake though still very tall, men and he turns back to you, only then letting the suppressed sniggers out. 

if not your lover, doyoung is your best friend. there's something reassuring about having someone that always has your back. whether it just be laughing with you, crying with you, sitting with you in silence as you both scroll through your phones, or even now, as he peers over your shoulder to watch your little character fish the same sea bass over and over again. you like the comfort that you share with him, the comfort you were so lucky to have happened upon.

the armrest in between is pushed up as you slip your switch back into the front pocket of his backpack. doyoung holds an arm out and you slip into the warmth of his side, head bobbing to the turbulence and onto the heights of his shoulder. he glances down at you, briefly, and when your eyes meet his, they curve into the sleepiest of smiles. the two of you sleep with the pace of your breaths in tandem with each other's, the two of you wake under the announcements of a landing, and your fingers hook onto the sides of his backpack as he leads the way off the plane, in a single file line all the way.

doyoung drapes a jacket over your shoulders the second you break the open air of london and he hooks the same jacket above your head where the awning of the airport stops and the thundering skies continue their downpour where it left off. his hand provides cover as you duck into the car, so as to prevent you from hitting the frame of the door, and when he slides in, right next to you as always, you grab his hand in your own, eyeing each other with the indications of a smile. 

it's then, as you point to the little droplets that whizz across the window of the car, that doyoung finds himself face to face with the same conclusion that he comes to time and time again. he loves you, a lot.

the palm of his hands slide down the satin fabric of his slacks, repeatedly. the look you throw his way has him gulping. "you sure you're not nervous?" his hands stop midway, too obvious it seems. "not at all." a quirk of your lips is given in response as you take the seat next to him in the waiting room. you watch as he tucks his bottom lip under teeth and you watch as his hands shift in their continuation down his thighs but retract and interlink as if they'd remembered not to do so. a stage manager knocks once before bursting in, sweat trickling down the sides of her face and a side of her headphones pulled backwards of an ear. she pants though the show has yet to begun. "five minutes and he has to get backstage," is what she directs at you and you pair your nod with a kind smile, signaling her exit.

the interaction only seems to ignite increasing bouts of anxiety from your already antsy boyfriend so you take his hands in yours, situating your body a smidgen to the right, and do your best to absorb his attention in something, anything else that could sidetrack his nerves for just those five minutes. 

"excited for tomorrow?" doyoung's hands squirm in yours and his facial expression morphs into a flicker of confusion before righting itself and following through with a reply, albeit half-hearted, "yeah, i guess."

"it's your first day off in awhile," you give his hand a squeeze, "and we get to explore the city, all by ourselves." he only nods along and though you're sure your attempt is futile, you hope that it falls through, "and new york's up next huh, i bet the snow will be real prett-"

"what are you getting at?"

it takes a second for you to process what he'd just did, what he'd just said, "what?" though looking at him, he's nonchalant as ever; the tone in which he rejoins makes it seem as if he's ticked off somehow, "why are you telling me this?" 

doyoung's brows draw to a point and it throws you off. he is ticked off. and it's plausibly that realization that gets you taking a stand for yourself as well, voice now clipped, "i just thought that i could preoccupy your thoughts for a bit, you seem so ne-"

"y/n." stopped in your tracks, you blink back at him benumbed. "i've already got enough on my plate as it is, why can't you just let me deal with my own shit?" 

there's something brooding beneath the face you put on for him. he sees it surfacing and he has enough sense to pay mind to it. that is, until you retort, "your own shit? then why the fuck am i-" 

"yes, my own shit. last i checked, i'm the one going up on that stage tonight so stop talking as if it's our job." and his defenses are held back up, sky-high, untouchable. doyoung's scowling at you as if you've never been more wrong in your life when in fact, you're almost positive that he's never been more at fault. the clench in his jaw, his hardened eyes, edged stance, everything about him in the moment jars you and you want nothing more than to punch him square in the nose (you do have quite the mad uppercut) but you restrain yourself under the pretense that he's minutes, maybe even seconds, away from being called to the stage, to perform.

sighing, the only thought that comes to your mind as you gather your bearings along with your belongings is the feeling that creeps between the synapses that once had held tight in your belief of his support, of his leniency, of his affections when it came to you. you swallow thickly, bag in hand and other hand reaching out for your coat, because you're sure you've never felt as unwanted as you do now, in front of him, glowering in your presence. at least the glint in his eyes soften when you come to a stop in front of him. 

doyoung peers up at you then, dubiously, and the first urge he receives is to duck his head back down. he feels small, and not because he's sitting and you're standing. he feels small, infinitesimal, with the knowledge that somewhere in those five minutes, things had gone awfully awry with little hope in rectifying in the little time left. the air that hangs heavy between the two of you remains silent, save for the unspoken passing of words that neither of you acknowledge. you're the first, and last, to break it.

"are you mad you brought me along?"

doyoung wishes he'd been quicker in denying. maybe that would've been enough to keep you from excusing yourself the second the stage manager had made her reappearance. maybe that would've been enough to get you to stay, to watch him, to cheer him on, to support him. maybe that would've calmed his nerves, finally, at last. he doesn't know, he's having a hard time deciphering his thoughts, chunking through his regrets, wallowing in his worries. 

doyoung gets into position. the only thing he knows is that he's in the right spot, the glow-in-the-dark tape tells him so. he'll have to sing soon, and maybe his scratchy voice will add to his pile of regrets. he'll have to dance too, to remember formations, stage directions, but the idea seems so far away, foreign, when all he can think of is the look on your face as the seconds dragged on, waiting for him to say 'no,' to say 'of course not,' to say 'i'm sorry, i love you.'

he's having a hard time because even now, long after you've left, the words stay lodged in his throat. and as the screams from just beyond grow louder and louder, as the lights overhead grow brighter and brighter, doyoung finds himself face to face with the same conclusion that he comes to time and time again. he needs you, he needs you more than ever.

it's dark and cold when doyoung first enters. to the right, he flicks the light on mindlessly to be met with an empty room. he supposes that it's warranted. setting his backpack upon the bed, sheets still pulled crisp and unfurled, he almost succumbs to the taunts of sleep that entice him but a single thought of you rectifies him, hand fishing out his phone from a back pocket of his jeans. 

it's then that he notices, with a startle that rivals a starring victim in a horror movie, the door to the balcony propped open a finger's length. he takes a glance back at the entrance to see your discarded shoes that had went unnoticed just seconds before, he figures. the curtains that skirt the adjacent windows billow in the wind that veers past the crack allotted, the gusts that becomes stronger and more fervid with each step doyoung takes in the direction. there's no creak that accompanies the swinging of the door, though he wishes there were so he wouldn't have to break his presence to you so suddenly. the second thing he notices, just behind the fact that you are indeed out here, is that the air is a biting cold, explaining the initial temperature he was met with upon entering. 

you're wearing the same, thin sweatshirt that you had donned for your backstage viewing of the concert, regrettably the coat had been neglected in your state. from the far edge of the balcony, you know there's a whole world splayed out before you, buildings lower, taller, equally as tall as the high-rise of your hotel, winding streets that never seemed to end, traffic that never seemed to move. you know, but it's impossible to see for yourself with the tears in your eyes that come as fast as they go.

time is stagnant, has been for hours upon hours, for you. for you also, crying is foreign territory, really, you'd like to consider yourself headstrong in the face of conflict and composed in the face of inner turmoil. it feels silly to find yourself hundreds of feet in the air and hundreds of miles away from home, sobbing in the light of an ineffectual fight with your boyfriend of three years. and it isn't as if the fight proved detrimental to the relationship, it was trivial in all the ways that pointed to the single course of action being to simply make up with him and move on. but somehow, your hesitance holds in resilience. 

you don't want to admit how unnerving it was to see an argument stem from such a small trifle, such a small amount of time, such a lack of care. why is it that situations that seem so small in their doing hold the most significance in their passing?

doyoung clears his throat and now you're the starring victim in a horror movie. a, "holy fuck!" accompanies the startle and the knuckle-white grip that both of your hands impose upon the rail. he steps fully out of the hotel room, into the frigid air of a london night, a london midnight in the middle of winter. "sorry, i- i'm back." rather lame but there's little headspace for you (or him for the matter) to process that. 

with a hand still on the nob, doyoung stands stiff across from you who is slowly but surely withering in the realization of how pitiful you must look, hair mussed in the wind, tear tracks evident, and the remnant pants that your hiccups had left in the wake of your breakdown. if not pitiful, then straight up pathetic. 

"are you okay?"

you blink at him. there's not much else you can say except, "yeah, i'm okay."

doyoung takes a step closer, a hand off the nob and the door clicks shut behind him. two more steps and he's a two foot distance from where you're stood on the far right of the terrace, gaze intent on his every action. he doesn't say anything at all, and what vexes you the most, he simply opens his arms wide, a forlorn sort of smile settling across his features. his apology.

there's not much else you can do except to give in to his embrace, reminiscent of all the love you've ever come to know, all the love you will ever know. you cry again, once in his arms; something about the smell of him, the warmth he gives off on a cold winter night, that gets you sniffling into his chest, finger fisting his own sweatshirt at the small of his back. a hand of his rounds your figure and holds you upright, the other is lain on the back of your head, soft strokes to tell you that he does care, he's here for you. really, the one thing that never fails to reassure you is how he holds you tight. 

hundreds of miles from home, scratch that, because right there in his arms, there is nothing more convincing than the fact that doyoung is your home, you are home.

mark sips on his smoothie until the straw begins to make those whistle-y, echo-y sounds that tell of how he's finished the drink. a passing waitress takes the emptied glass from him and he gives a nod to her muttered, "refill?" 

glancing back, he's met with a plate of food that's been cleared for a good while now and a table of mostly drunk boys that can't seem to get a hold of themselves. taeil, quite the horrific drunk, is slopped over haechan's side. neither of them seem to notice. and then there's yuta, taeyong, and jungwoo, all seated in a row and all with their heads fallen straight on the table, backs hunched over. sicheng and johnny are nowhere to be seen but mark supposes it wouldn't be all that odd to find one of them lain out flat on the floor, or underneath the table, or even suspended from the ceiling at this point. 

mark glances across the table, locks eyes with jaehyun who had also decided to remain sober for the night. jaehyun gives a nudge of his head over to his right, to where mark looks to his left to see you and doyoung at the end of the table engrossed in conversation, so much so that it seems as if you're leaning into each other, elbows propped on the table and all. he could chalk it up to the speakers, the music was turned pretty loud, so naturally you'd lean in to hear the other better. or maybe, mark thinks, maybe the two of you are just naturally drawn to each other, a thing that happens to couples as he'd heard, subconscious actions like these are plausible as well. or maybe, mark thinks, but his train of thought is interrupted when the waitress returns with his strawberry smoothie, straw exchanged and drink refilled. he takes it from her, a gracious, "thank you," supplied and when she turns to leave he takes a sip, turning back himself.

whatever made it into his mouth is spat right back out when he sees the scene unfolding before him. here is mark's inner narration on what's happening:

doyoung-hyung's not in his seat, huh. oh there, he's standing, no wait—now he's kneeling, oh, he's kneeling. what's he getting from his pocket? a box, it's a teeny box. he's opening teeny box, oh fuck, oh jesus, oh he's proposing. he's asking you to marry him. oh my god, what if you don't say ye-

"yes."

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — hey anon, i hope that you thought it was a GOOD fic. if not, ahem, i apologize for taking up your time. but really, this fic holds together so many mini ideas that i had but were never substantial enough to turn into writing so thank you for giving me a base to build off of, i enjoyed writing it very much <3

[juletheghoul]

Mysticus Chapter 4

Ezra x F!Reader Soulmates AU

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Slow-burn (I yearn™️)

Masterlist Chapter 5

You were exhausted.

You were all exhausted; you sat in the passenger’s seat while Ezra drove, fighting tooth and nail to stay awake. You could feel how tired he was and it scared you to fall asleep, you wanted to stay awake with him.

“I’m starting to suspect that we might not make it to a motel any time soon.” He spoke softly, careful not to startle you.

“Let’s just pull over somewhere, I just need a few hours and so do you.” You murmured.

“I would be agreeable to that Birdie, there’s a rest stop coming up in a few miles.” He said as he reached in the back for one of his sweaters and put it over your legs.

The next thing you knew, you were parked in a brightly lit service station and you were falling back. He had the secret smile as he lowered the back of your chair so you were reclined.

“My sincerest apologies Birdie, I was trying to make you more comfortable. If you continue on this way your neck will be murder tomorrow.” He was speaking in a low, comforting voice.

“How long have I been asleep? Thanks, by the way – god, you’re right – my neck isn’t feeling too great.” You winced as you stretched out.

“About an hour, here, turn around Birdie.” He carefully guided you so that you were sitting facing away from him. You were confused as to why until he put his hands on you. You let out a groan as he massaged your neck and shoulders; his hands were glorious and you couldn’t bring yourself to be ashamed of the noises you were making. You could feel the secret smile on his face but as you felt yourself turning to putty in his hands, nothing seemed to matter. His hands were so big and warm and he rubbed your shoulders with the perfect amount of pressure.

It was doing things to you, you knew that this was the most relaxed you’ve been in years. At a particularly breathy groan he chuckled slightly and it shot straight to your core. You pushed it away.

He moved his hands down a little and kept massaging your back, not happy with the grip; he lifted your shirt slightly. You felt a moment of panic but there was nothing predatory in the way he touched you. He sensed your panic.

“Nothing to worry about Birdie, driving constantly is taking it’s toll on our bodies.” He said it so sincerely, you let the nerves go and continued to melt.

“I feel born again.” You said it in a calm breathy tone which made him laugh.

“Glad to be of service.” He sounded so tired.

“Turn around, let me do you now.” You smiled happily at him. You felt him hesitate momentarily but at your insistence he turned his back to you.

“You’re going to get the star treatment now, you watch.” You felt energized after his massage and eager to make him feel as good as you felt. You rubbed his neck and shoulders, taking care to use the right pressure.

It was his turn to groan.

The noises he was making were borderline sinful, and knowing it was you causing them made your stomach suddenly fill with butterflies. As you rubbed his neck, you noticed that it was getting harder and harder for him to stay upright but seemed to be making a valiant effort.

“Ezra, you’re falling asleep. We should set up the trunk so you can stretch out.” You pulled his shirt down and went about shifting some things around in the back. You moved the dog to the front seat and gently guided him to the back.

There was just enough room for the two of you, might not be the most comfortable but it would definitely be better than sleeping folded up in the front.

You were too tired to worry about his proximity to you in that moment and after you made sure the doors were locked, you fell asleep almost instantly; his massage hadn’t energized you – it had knocked you out.

---

There was something tickling your neck, were you dreaming? You swam up out of sleep at the feeling of it. It took you a couple of moments to remember where you were, but you felt the tickling again – then you realized what it was. Ezra was pressed tightly to your back, softly breathing in your ear. His arm casually thrown over your middle.

You knew it wasn’t on purpose, but there was something that made you wish it was. You didn’t exactly know when you’d developed feelings for Ezra but they were clear as day now with him wrapped around you. You savoured his warmth, trying hard to keep your breathing calm so as not to wake him up. It was difficult to keep your heart from pounding with him so close, and when he moved slightly and tightened his hold on you it felt as though your heart might burst. You cherished the thought that he would seek out your warmth in sleep, even though he might not be aware of it. You fell asleep again.

This time when you woke up he was lying on his back and you were curled around him, your head on his shoulder and both your arm and leg thrown over him. He was your personal body pillow it seemed. his arm was tucked under you and rubbing your back softly, it was dizzying how lovely it felt.

Your eyes shot open when you realized he was awake and quickly made to get up off him.

“Sorry – I must have-“ he cut you off.

“It’s no problem Birdie, I genuinely don’t mind, I confess that I’m enjoying the warmth.” He smiled serenely at you as you tentatively settled back on his chest. It made you smile to think he liked you laying on him.

“What time is it?” you noticed it wasn’t quite daytime yet, had to be close to dawn from what you could tell. The lights at the rest stop had been turned off, everything quiet and calm. The dog was curled up on the front seat sleeping peacefully.

“I cannot be sure of the time just now - how did you sleep?” You could hear and feel his voice, your ear pressed against his chest and the rumble was the most soothing thing you’d ever felt. It felt as though the sound seeped into your bones.

“Not bad if I’m honest, it’ll be nice to find a motel to shower in soon though.” You automatically matched your voice to his, it felt wrong to speak loudly in this light. He continued to rub your back softly and just as you thought you might fall asleep he spoke again.

“Would you allow me to read your palm Birdie?” You could hear the secret smile in his voice, and you unwillingly shifted so you lay side by side, giving him your hand. The one with the mark.

He held it in his hands tracing the mark lightly with his finger. You could see him comparing it to his, a curious look came over him. You thought it could be a look of recognition, but you couldn’t be sure.

“What do you see?” you asked as you both stared at the matching marks.

“Well Birdie, I see the very same thing you yourself saw in my palm. Your other half, or soulmate, whichever word you choose to describe it; waiting for you.” You thought he sounded a little sad. He kept your hand in his, kept tracing the mark.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” He frowned at your words.

“Yes, I do Birdie, I didn’t in another life, but I do now.” He would not look at you. Your heart was in your throat, you felt as thought you were going to crash into something. Moving lightning quick into some immovable force and it scared the hell out of you. The words were on your tongue but you bit them back. He spoke to distract you, your panic seeping into him.

“There was a story my Grandmother told me as a child, it was about Greek mythology and their beliefs about our humble origins. When humans were originally created, they were monstrous things, four legs, a head with two faces and fearing their power; Zeus split them into two separate parts. Condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. My grandmother told me a great deal of stories.” You imagined him as a child listening intently to his grandmother, you knew then where his love of reading came from.

“That’s a sad story, what if you don’t find them?” He brought your hand down onto his chest, with his resting on top trapping part of you close to his heart.

“That would indeed be sad.” was all he said.

-----------------------------------

Tag-list: @foli-vora @frannyzooey @freak-nasty-thick-dick-mando @marydjarin @thirstworldproblemss @cannedsoupsucks @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs

[noussommeslessquelettes]

I'm a sucker for number 12 if you fancy giving it a go?

bro honestly me too? It’s kinda funny bc the next chapter of Left as in Gone has this trope too! So part of me was like “do I even gotta write another thing?” but then of COURSE the answer was “absolutely u do” so yes here have a this thing.

Thanks for your patience; I hope you enjoy!

Preview: “So you’re not going to tell him?”

“I…” Lance’s voice lowered to a murmur. “You’re sure he’s asleep?”

Pidge hummed assent. “He could sleep through the apocalypse, honest.”

“So?” Hunk prompted.

Send me a ship with one of these and I’ll write a mini fic

Full disclosure, Keith had actually woken up about fifteen minutes ago. B-list action movies were the worst genre of film, as far as falling asleep in the middle of them went, and all it had taken was one (of several, he’d gleaned over the last quarter hour) car explosion too many to jolt him begrudgingly out of his slumber.

Still, he’d learned many years ago that if you fell asleep at the end of a movie, people usually didn’t expect you to help clean up after. And though the trick no longer worked with movie nights at home—not since Adam had moved in—it had worked like a charm with his new friends over the past few months. As the end credits rolled before his closed eyelids, the couch beneath him creaked under someone standing up with a yawn.

“Let’s draw a dick on his face,” Pidge muttered.

Never mind, Keith groaned internally, lamenting the loss of his sloth for the sake of his pride. He drew in a breath—

“Don’t.”

And let it go. It was almost a task to keep his slack expression from adopting a furrowed brow, because that was definitely—

“Just let him be.” The scrape of a plastic bowl on a wooden coffee table played harmony to Lance’s continued argument, the creak of the floorboards his percussion. “He deals with enough torture from us already.”

Hunk scoffed from his place on the recliner, the silence of a nonverbal communication hanging in the air before Lance’s footfalls echoed back into the room.

Lance clicked his tongue. “The things I do for him—and he’s never going to know,” he muttered.

“Probably ‘cause of how you act when he’s awake,” Hunk pointed out, the sharp click of the recliner locking back upright following suit.

“Yeah, well—” another wordless gesture, probably “—okay? I’m dealing with it the best I can.”

Keith almost rolled his eyes, figuring the vaguery was about as much reasoning as Lance could have for the continued tension between the two of them, despite Lance denouncing their purported (A.K.A. fabricated) rivalry some few weeks ago.

Until Pidge’s response, that is.

“So you’re not going to tell him?”

“I…” Lance’s voice lowered to a murmur. “You’re sure he’s asleep?”

He felt a scrutinous gaze against his skin, and he did his best to sell the slump in his body (the tension it gave him likely not helping his case, but it must’ve been enough for Pidge.)

She hummed assent. “He could sleep through the apocalypse, honest.”

“So?” Hunk prompted.

Lance sighed. “‘Course not.”

Keith bit his tongue. Could these assholes start being more specific? Or at least have the decency to leave the room so he could pretend to wake up without embroiling himself in this secret that he can’t even understand anyway?

Hunk gave a low whistle. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Does this mean loverboy Lance has hung up his bow and arrow?”

Keith’s heart kicked in his chest. Wait, loverboy? Did she mean…

“You said it yourself: it’d only freak him out if he knew—and I’m not going to do that to the group. ‘Sides, Keith needs us: his only other friends are his dog and brother-in-law, and Adam only counts on good days.” He laughed, but the others didn’t seem as eager to join in.

Hunk gave an uneasy sound. “I don’t know if Keith—”

“He would. Trust me—Pidge?”

“I…” She sighed. “I won’t say I’ve run the numbers, but it’s not exactly promising.”

“It’s not worth it,” Lance concluded. “Even if he’d stay, what’s the point? It’s not like I have a chance anyway.”

“Lance—”

“You’re going to tell me I’m a catch?” Lance interrupted, then laughed. “Please do; I need to hear it.”

Hunk joined in with a chuckle of his own. “If I didn’t have a girlfriend, I’d date you in a heartbeat.”

Lance’s hand thumped against his chest. “A man after my own heart. Pidge?”

She scoffed. “If I had to date anyone, I think you’d be one of the least offensive options out there.”

Empty beer bottles clinked against each other. “Oh, it’s an honour just to be nominated!”

“Y’need any help, bud?” Hunk called out after his retreating steps.

“Nah, you guys can head home; I got the rest of it.”

Hunk lowered his voice, clearly addressing Pidge. “Draw straws on who’s got to wake him up?”

“Just let him sleep,” Lance answered, his voice floating over the back of the couch now. “I’ll drive him home when he wakes up.”

“Ooh,” Pidge cooed, “want him all to yourself, do you?”

“Don’t want us to know how long you’re going to watch him sleep?”

“You—” Lance groaned. “I thought we were being nice to Lance tonight!”

“We were,” Pidge argued. “Hunk, we were nice, weren’t we?”

“Super nice,” Hunk agreed, “so now we get to be mean.”

“Ugh, you guys are the worst.” The couch complained as he pushed off, their voices echoing towards the front door. “Why do I tell you anything, again?”

“‘Cause we already know all of your other secrets,” Pidge replied. “You’re forced to trust us now.”

Lance sucked on his teeth. “Yeah, can’t have that shit leaked to the press.” The front door was wrenched open. “Love you, assholes.”

Hunk and Pidge’s goodbyes were a bit too quiet for Keith to discern, but soon after they were spoken, the front door slid shut, and Keith was insulated in the soft bubble of silence of Lance’s living room. He held his breath for Lance to step out of sightline long enough so he could feign rousing, practically celebrating when Lance’s footsteps led him back to the living room, hoping they’d keep on going to the kitchen.

The echo stilled, just as he reached the foot of the couch.

“Of course, you have to look adorable when you sleep, too,” he practically spat under his breath. Then he heaved a sigh, and continued to the kitchen.

The moment the sound transferred from hardwood to tile, Keith pushed himself up to sit. His stiff muscles complained, and he rolled out his shoulders as his eyes cracked open, taking in the gentle lamplight and distant kitchen light with squinted eyes. He yawned, elbows resting on his knees as he rubbed his fingers into his eyelids.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Keith drew in his first full breath, turning to look over his shoulder as Lance walked back in from the kitchen. “Mm.” He cleared his throat, his voice still heavy with the sleep he hadn’t feigned earlier. He scanned the living room then as Lance passed the couch, picking up a couple empty soda cans from the coffee table. He remembered himself a little, and decided to ask, “Where’s Hunk and Pidge?”

He swore he saw Lance freeze for a split-second when he asked it, saw a tension in his shoulders dissipate when he looked Keith in the eye again. He gave an apologetic smile. “Yeah, Pidge didn’t want to wait ‘til you got up to drive you home.”

Keith almost felt uneasy under Lance’s gaze—his attention undivided in the low light, his expression soft and open, dare Keith even say fond. He had no business looking at him like that, not when Keith had just woken up, and probably had bedhead or—shit, did he? He ducked and smoothed his hair down with his hands, hoping it looked as casual as he’d envisioned it in his mind’s eye.

“Well, shit.”

“I know,” Lance laughed, leaning a hip against the far armrest, “typical Pidge, am I right? But I can drive you home, if you want.”

Keith chewed on his tongue. Should I tell him?

“Lance, listen.”

It would be easy. Keith wasn’t a good actor, anyway—and Shiro always said honesty was the best policy, especially with people you cared about.

“I heard what you guys were talking about before, and…”

And what? Keith didn’t have a good answer for him—he’d hardly believed Lance tolerated him as a friend, let alone adding the prospect of… other feelings.

“Keith?” He blinked, eyes refocusing and lifting back up to match Lance’s. Lance chuckled. “Thought you fell asleep on me again.”

“No, I…” He was far too tired to think this over properly, right now. And a ride home sounded much nicer than a half-hour walk in the cold. “Thanks.”

Lance gave him a smile that made his insides flip. “Cool. I’ll just—” He pushed off the couch. “—Let me chuck these in the kitchen, and we can go.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me again, ‘kay?” He called back from the other room.

Keith rolled his eyes, pushing up to stand. “I can manage.”

Lance hummed uncertainly. “You sure? You were completely out of it during the movie—snoring and the whole bit.”

Keith froze mid-stretch, dropping his hands with an indignant pout. “I did not snore.”

“Did too.”

“I don’t snore!”

Lance rounded back into sight, waving his keys in front of him. “And somehow I heard it with my own ears. Funny how that works.”

He winked at Keith in passing, and Keith’s stomach flipped. He gave a quiet groan, hoping that reaction wouldn’t become the norm, in the wake of this unfortunate revelation—Lance was the one with the crush, after all.

Right?

He twisted his neck until it gave a satisfying pop, then smirked when Lance inevitably vocalised his disgust at it.

[meditativeyoga]

Cancer and Insomnia: A Short, Relaxing Sequence to Put You on the Path to Sleep

You probably understand the feeling - depending on bed for hrs on end checking out the clock with the mind swirling, chattering as well as generally keeping you from dropping off to sleep. You re-play the events of the day getting captured in circular ideas like "Why did I say that?", "Why really did not I stand up for myself at the office?", or "Just how am I mosting likely to pay my bills?". The frustration of sleeplessness splashes over into the next day and also you find on your own grabbing one more cup of coffee to make it via the day. One in 4 Americans experiences sleeping disorders yearly, with 75% of those sufferers recovering without developing chronic sleep problems (1 ).

Cancer, Insomnia and Immunity

For cancer cells individuals, the stress and anxiety of diagnosis as well as therapy can be cause for better sleeplessness. Lately dealt with cancer patients are twice as most likely to develop sleep disruptions as the basic populace (2 ). It is not only the swirling stressful thoughts that keep patients awake, yet muscle mass and joint pain might stop them from locating convenience and accomplishing deep relaxing rest. Several steroidal cancer medicines can additionally trigger sleeping disorders, and also patients commonly need prescription sleeping help to get over it.

Regular sleep is so important to every facet of life, from physically really feeling far better to be able to think even more plainly. From remaining in a far better mood to being able to heal faster. Sleep improves resistance at the cellular degree enabling immune cells to be produced as well as cells to be fixed. Demanding sleep-less evenings have both as well as an immediate as well as long-lasting damaging impact on the wellness of the immune system. (3 ). For cancer cells people or people whose body immune systems are currently compromised by therapies, rest is a vital component of sustaining the body's all-natural recovery processes.

You Deserve Better Sleep

But exactly how do we get much better rest? There are lots of ways to boost rest health consisting of preserving an established going to bed, creating a relaxing pre-sleep routine like taking a warm bath or alcohol consumption herbal tea, restricting light and electronic devices in the bedroom, as well as producing a warm welcoming rest atmosphere. Yoga exercise methods can additionally assist enhance rest and over 55% of yoga exercise specialists report that yoga exercise assists them sleep much better (4 ). Specifically, we will be taking a look at techniques that activate the parasympathetic nerve system, or "rest as well as absorb" response. This component of the nerves neutralizes chronic overstimulation of the considerate nerve system, or "flight or fight" feedback brought on by living in the contemporary world.

Yoga for Insomnia

The yoga technique that adheres to is a combination of practices to allow simpler sleep. It is composed of mudra to assist peaceful the late-night ruminations of the mind, mild back motions to alleviate body pains, soothing pranayama to release stress and anxiety, and a moderate inversion to initiate the relaxation feedback. Technique in the hour before you go to bed to make use of the sleep-inducing benefits.

Yoga Practice Tips

Do a little yoga daily to give yourself the moment as well as space to heal. Make yoga exercise a long-term component of your life after cancer.

Stay conscious of the body as well as breath throughout the practice. Only relocation in a comfortable range of movement. If you come to be awkward, lightheaded, nauseated or breathless, stop instantly as well as rest for a couple of moments.

For this method, a yoga floor covering and two soft props (boosts, blankets or cushions) will certainly be helpful.

Stating Intention with Vajrapradama Mudra

Stating a purpose, or Sankalpa, is an essential very first action toward making use of yoga as a healing method. Combining intention with the adhering to mudra that settles doubts by boosting your capability to count on yourself can offer as a suggestion of your goals throughout this time.

Begin being in a comfy seated position.

Clasp your hands together with your fingers on the outside.

Open your palms in the direction of your chest so that your thumbs get to upwards towards the ceiling.

Loosen the webbing in between your fingers and hold your hands in front of your heart center as well as notice the physical and also energised impacts of this gesture.

While holding Vajrapradama Mudra state your sankalpa 3 times silently. If you have difficulty developing a purpose, utilize the declaration, "I deserve to be well-rested."

Hold the mudra for a couple of even more breaths, then launch the hands.

Apanasana

When a tight and throbbing body adds to sleepless evenings, activity is usually needed to launch stress, convenience pain, as well as relax muscle mass to make sure that rest can come extra quickly, particularly if you experience periodic troubled leg disorder or cramping during the night. Attempt this basic effective series of motions that can be done on the flooring or reclining in bed.

Begin pushing your back with your knees bent as well as your feet on the floor

As you breathe in prolong your legs making certain that you do not feel the strain in your lower back. If you feel a stress, keep your knees curved and also your feet on the floor.

As you breathe out draw your right knee towards your upper body with your hands clasped in front of your shin, as shown.

Then as you breathe in expand your appropriate leg back to the flooring and also either relax your arms to your sides or reach them over your head.

As you breathe out and breathe in once more, repeat the movement with your left leg.

Alternate sides for 5 or more repetitions, unwinding right into a moving pattern with your breath.

Reclining Twist

A mild twist can be useful for launching muscle tension from the hips and also reduced back which may assist you to be extra comfortable when you recline to rest. Attempt this version on the flooring or in addition to your bed.

Recline on your back with your knees bent as well as your feet on the floor. You might discover it useful to put a strengthen or block on the appropriate side of your hips.

Press your feet into the floor and also slightly lift your hips up so that you can shift your hips a couple of inches to the left, after that lay your hips back down.

Draw your knees in the direction of your chest as well as unwind your legs to the right, using the prop under or in between the knees as required to maintain both of your shoulders on the floor.

Breathe right into the left side of your abdominal area and also chest as you rest in this placement up to 3 minutes.

To come out of the stance, draw your left knee up complied with by your right to make sure that you are hing on your back again.

Then area your feet on the floor and repeat the spin to the various other side.

Chair Forward Fold

A mild onward flex shares the tension-relieving advantages of the reclining spin above as well as calming psychological and psychological power that can aid to prepare the body and also mind for sleep. Attempt this variation with the head supported by a chair to make sure a feeling of surrender as well as ease.

Sit cross-legged in front of a chair seat using a folded up covering or boost under your rest bones if it assists your capacity to turn your hips forward.

Lengthen the front of your back and also location a reinforce along the front of your body for support.

Then lean onward from your hips and relax the reinforce versus the front edge of the chair seat.

It may be a lot more comfortable to transform your head away (as shown) and also relax your arms on the seat, making certain to alter the turn of your head half-way through the position. Or else, you might put your forehead on your piled hands, or rest your arms down by your sides.

Rest in this setting for up to 3 mins so long as your hips as well as legs are comfy. Breathe into the back of your body inhaling up your back and also exhaling down your spine.

To appeared of the stance, involve your lower belly and attract your torso back upright.

Repeat the pose with your various other leg went across ahead. Notice that the leg that gets on top or ahead gets the most stretch in this posture.

Chandra Bhedana (Left Nostril Breathing)

Different breathing patterns develop various results and right here you will certainly exercise pranayama that can calm a swirling mind. In this pattern, you will certainly take a breath in through the left nostril which activates Ida Nadi. This left pranic network is usually called the moon channel as well as is cooler, calmer and also extra introspective than the right channel. You will certainly then exhale with the best nostril which is related to pingala nadi, the more active or solar network. Imagine that you are enabling calming lunar power to move via your active busy mind.

Begin seated conveniently and also place the index as well as middle fingers of your leading hand at the place between your eyebrows.

Use your thumb (or ring finger if you are left-handed) to close your right nostril as well as inhale via that side.

Hold your breath in easily for a few seconds

Then utilize your ring finger (or thumb if you are left-handed) to shut your left nostril and exhale through that side.

Hold your breath out conveniently for a few seconds.

Continue breathing with this pattern, inhaling through your left nostril and also breathing out with your right nostril with minor pauses at the top of the breathing and also bottom of the exhalation.

Can you feel that the breathings are cooler than the exhalations? Notice the results of this breath as you proceed for a few minutes.

When you are completed, spend a few moments unwinding the breath back to its typical daily pattern.

Legs in Chair

Elevating the legs prior to you go to rest can help in a number of ways. It will kick back the reduced back and also assist to launch deeply-held tension in the hips. The mild inversion additionally shifts the circulation of blood from the feet in the direction of the heart as well as sends a signal to the parasympathetic nerves to activate the relaxation response. It spends some time for this inner shift to take place, so remainder here for as long as you feel comfortable.

Find an item of furniture in your house such as a soft chair, sofa seat or ottoman that you can utilize for support. You might utilize the side of your bed or perhaps lie with the feet up on your headboard.

Recline in front of your support and place your calves on the seat, supporting your head with a folded up covering or cushion if needed.

Completely unwind your legs and also relax your arms somewhat away from sides with the hands facing up.

Rest right here for at the very least 10 minutes.

If you do not desire to drop asleep in this placement, you might wish to set a timer.

Also, see to it that you are warm sufficient, put on socks or cover on your own with a blanket.

[wildefiction]

Of Course...Mr. Collins

TWENTY-SEVEN

The following morning dawned bright, the north-eastern sky washed in bold strokes of magenta and tangerine, the hush of indigo just beginning to dissipate when [Y/F/N] and Misha climbed into their Uber.

The ride to the airport was silent, the only sound the steady hum of the driver's tires as he weaved between lanes of traffic. Over the last several months with Misha and his family, settling into companionable silence had been an easy transition - the need for constant dialogue no longer necessary. Instead when his fingers laced with yours, his thumb tracing small circles across your knuckles, you merely smiled to yourself and squeezed his hand.

Having gotten your bags checked and through TSA in record time, the two of you stopped at a small, independent coffee stand at the entrance to your terminal. Pulling a wrought-iron chair out from one of the tables clustered around the drink bar, you stepped up on the foot rest, sliding back in the seat to wait for Misha.

Sliding a quad-shot iced Americano across the table into your waiting grip, Misha grinned while shaking his head.

“You’re going to have to pee so much on the plane…you know that right?” “You get the aisle seat this time – no more crawling over my lap every ten minutes to run to the bathroom.”

Staring at him over the rim of the glass, you just narrowed your eyes. Under the table, your hand reached over and squeezed his thigh while your lips brushed against his ear, “you just don’t like me crawling over you cause you’re not allowed to touch me on the plane.”

Misha’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath held in an attempt to not react to your touch. The two of you finished your drinks in relative silence after that, making for your gate when the announcement echoed through the small space that boarding had begun.

Settled in your seats, the blanket that had awaited you in your cabin draped over your lap, you leaned forward to fish around in the canvas messenger bag at your feet - pulling a pair of headphones from the overstuffed pockets and sliding the speakers over your ears.

Leaning back in the recliner, you closed your eyes, fully intent on napping for the three-hour flight. As expected, Misha reached over and gently grabbed your wrist. The veins beneath his thin skin singing with tension. All-in-all, he'd gotten better with flying, his grip not so tight and his heart rate not so fast with each successive trip the two of you had taken together. But nerves still coursed through his body and the small comfort of your presence was enough to keep him visibly relaxed.

Once the jet had leveled out above the clouds, Misha withdrew his hand and settled back with a mug of hot tea that had been delivered almost immediately; the navy linen napkin draped over his tray table a stark contrast to the white stoneware.

Several hours later, the brisk air had you pulling the collar of your jacket closer. Although you were in California, the fall morning had been chilly. Rubbing your hands together, you loaded the last of the bags into the car that had been sent to collect you from the airport. Dozing for the twenty-minute drive, as soon as you'd checked into your room and Misha had gone off to check in with the convention organizers, you crawled atop the crimson duvet spread over your mattress and pulled several pillows towards your body, falling asleep easily on the plush bedding.

You awoke to the shift of the mattress, Misha's arms wrapping around your body as his weight settled in behind yours. The deep timbre of his voice against your skin had you instinctively scooting closer, pulling his arms tighter around your body.

"You alright [Y/F/N]?"

Concern laced his voice; several fingers brushing hair back from your forehead.

"Yes? Why wouldn't I be?" Turning to face the man draped over you, it was a struggle to situate yourself to where you could make eye contact with him.

"Hmm, let's see...you've been sleeping almost non-stop since we got on the plane, which was...almost eight hours ago. You haven't really eaten - which, let's face it...is ra-OW!"

Misha chuckled, rubbing his arm where you'd playfully punched him.

"What?! Its true." Laughing at your scowl, he held his hands out in front of him, hurrying to add that he too, enjoyed eating.

"And, I think you might have a fever - you're awfully warm."

His face turned stoic once more as he finished ticking off reasons to be concerned on his fingers.

Struggling to sit up, you finally managed to pull yourself into an upright position, leaning back against the headboard with pillows stacked behind you.

"Maybe I wouldn't be so warm if I didn't have a full-grown man-child draped all over me." "And I don't know why I'm so tired, apparently I just need to catch up on sleep."

Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you'd just stood from the mattress when a wave of nausea strong enough to keep you seated shot through you. Taking a deep breath, you planted your hands next to your body and closed your eyes. After a second, you tried again, the nausea still eating at your insides, even though it had subsided significantly.

"Definitely need food though, my stomach is trying to eat itself as we speak."

A wry smile slid into place as you went in search of the room service menu. Thumbing through the pages, nothing sounded remotely appetizing amongst the typical offerings of overpriced burgers and pasta dishes.

Tossing the binder back on the end-table, you turned to see Misha on the phone. The deep, booming laughter on the other end could only be one person.

Raising your eyebrows in interest, you were surprised when your boss silently asked if you felt up to going to dinner. Rarely did the opportunity to see your friends arise, and quickly you agreed, hurrying to pull a brush through your hair and wash the sleep from your face.

Thirty-five minutes later, the two of you were crowded into the back of a dark local tavern, the only real source of light a sputtering candle beneath a cloche of smoke-tinted glass. The waitress, a busty red-head with large blue eyes, had come by several minutes prior with drinks from the themed menu sitting jauntily in displays shaped like stars.

You were eyeballing the cosmic looking liquid swirling in your glass when a pair of strong arms wrapped around you from behind, hauling you off your feet with ease. Drink all but forgotten, an undignified squeal spilled from your lips as you were spun around before being dropped unceremoniously back at the table. Shaking off the new spike of nausea rolling through your stomach, you turned to face Jared – wrapping your arms around his waist in excitement.

“Jared! It’s great to see you – I didn’t know you and Gen were in town.” Taking a moment to glance around his lanky frame, you could see his wife pushing her way back from the bar, two drinks in hand.

Handing a glass to her husband, she set her drink down and pulled both you and Misha into a warm embrace.

“We decided to come in a couple days early for the convention, needed some adult time away from the boys.”

Gen’s bubbly laughter showed no hint of being a mother to two rambunctious miniature versions of Jared and you complimented her on how well put-together she was.

“It’s all an illusion babe, it really does take a village. We’re blessed to have the tremendous support network that we do.”

With a warm smile, she waved her hand with a laugh before continuing; “But enough about home, I’m starving and..” -Gen pointed to your glass- “whatever that is, sign me the hell up!”

*****

Vibrant music blaring from her phone had Y/F/N’s eyes cracking open. The glaring sun immediately had her squeezing them shut. Rolling over to stretch, she was hit once again with a violent wave of nausea.

“Great, a hangover - you’d think I’d know better than to drink that much by now.”

Her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth, she reached across the bed to the nightstand in search of water; the contents of her stomach threatening to remind her what she’d eaten the night before.

Deciding to move slower, you gingerly raised yourself into a sitting position - several deep breaths keeping the sick at bay, for now at least.  The telltale beeping of your room door alerted you to Misha’s presence on the other side. Pushing the hair back from your face, you sat up a little straighter - the same slow, deep breaths steadying you as you slid from the bed to meet him.

“Morning love.” Mishas’ deep voice was laced with exhaustion, a paper cup of coffee clutched in his right hand was offered to you as he sipped from the one in his left.

Although you had no intentions of drinking the steaming liquid, you still accepted the paper cup, if only to keep the inevitable questions at bay.

Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss. Burying his face in Twitter, you turned and disappeared into the bathroom, setting your coffee on the nearby dresser before closing the door with a soft click.

Twisting the faucets to the shower, you ran the water as hot as you dared, dropping your pajama pants and tank top to the floor before stepping inside. Leaning back against the cool tile, you slid to the floor; torrents of water roaring from the showerhead. You still felt sick to your stomach and though you were suddenly ravenous, you were almost afraid to eat.

Busy with your inner monologue, you were startled when Misha opened the glass doors, his lascivious grin quickly faltering as he took in your position.

"[Y/F/N], are you sure you're okay?"

Reaching a hand out to cup your cheek, his brows knit together in worry, cobalt eyes scanning your features for any hint of what was wrong. With a wry smile, you braced your hands on the wall, lifting yourself into a standing position and advancing on Misha.

"I'm good, just forgot what a hangover feels like. Guessing I kinda deserve it if my memories of last night are any indication."

A twitch at the corner of his mouth made you realize he was trying hard to not laugh at your plight.

"Well why don't you just hang back here for awhile? I've got to get to my meet and greet, but I'll come check on you in an hour or so - okay?"

Misha reached out towards you, cupping your cheek with one wide palm. Pressing his lips to your forehead, he smiled warmly before leading you back to the large pile of blankets awaiting in the bedroom. Once beneath the covers, he fished in his pocket and removed a small foil packet, pressing his thumbs into the thin material and removing two aqua-colored gel caps.

"Here. Take these and try to rest. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Lifting himself from the edge of the mattress, Misha looked back and gave a faint smile before leaving the room. When the sound of the door shutting enveloped you in complete silence, you turned to your side and curled up into a ball, willing the knots in your stomach to subside.

*****

Thirty-five seconds on the elevator had Misha on his way to begin his adventure meet and greet. Remembering how Creation had tried to keep him contained to a room all those years ago was a fond memory. So now, instead, they'd decided to capitalize on his wandering and offer two different fan experiences. At least he had a chance to get some fresh air this way. Misha wasn't one to spend much time in one spot.

Sitting amongst a circle of fifteen eager bodies, Misha sipped at the tea clutched in both hands. Although the warm sun of California had provided a cloudless sky, it was still December and there was a chill in the air. For the most part, conversation flowed easily between the small group; Misha recognizing several of the individuals.

Across from his seat, three unfamiliar faces were hunched over their phones, curious eyes flicking up to meet Misha’s before resuming their scrolling. Usually, most people paid attention when they spent the kind of money it cost to have coffee with him – but occasionally he was surprised. The age of technology had claimed more people than even he’d thought possible, which was saying a lot with how much time Misha spent on his phone.

Spending time discussing the finer points of hybrid animal creation for Gish with the others circled around him, he couldn’t help but pick up on the whispered conversation of the group sitting off by themselves.

“Poor Vicky, who does this chick think she is? Everyone knows he’s married.”

“Ugh, she’s not even that pretty… I can’t believe Misha would do that to his wife. What an asshole.”

The last sentence caught Misha’s attention, but this time when he looked up at the small group, they simply stared at him, disgust evident in their features. Unsure on whether to correct them, laugh it off or just outright ignore their rude statements, he was only mildly surprised when he found that his legs had decided for him. Looming over the younger girls, the man raised an eyebrow in question.

“Something you’d like to share with the class ladies?”

The unimpressed look on his face gave them pause, but only for a moment.

The other twelve people, having watched Misha approach the others, all clustered around him to see what was happening.

“Yeah, who’s the slut draped all over you in this picture?”

The young woman sitting between her friends looked to be about seventeen, maybe a bit older. With as crass as Misha could be, even he was taken aback by her use of language.

The woman held out an iPhone. Bedecked in magenta and pink Swarovski crystals; a small flower charm dangled from the top. Misha knew what the picture would be before he even saw the tweet. Someone had posted a picture on the social media platform of him with [Y/F/N] at the airport, several colorfully worded hashtags accompanying the image. As photos went, it wasn’t scandalous in the slightest – he was shown laughing at something [Y/F/N] was whispering in his ear, her fingers resting against his chest.

Leaning back, Misha smirked. The girls sitting before him wore smug looks on their faces, convinced they were somehow embarrassing the man in front of them.

“Oh, that’s [Y/F/N] – my girlfriend.” “May I?”

Reaching a hand out for the device, which was promptly handed over, he turned to the rest of the crowd, a giant smile on his face as he showed them the picture. Tossing the phone back to its owner, he turned from the small group and began to walk with the others back to the hotel. It was nearly time for his panel and he wanted to pop in on [Y/F/N] to make sure she was okay before heading down. Collecting phones from each of the participants, Misha stopped to take pictures with everyone. When he once again was handed the glittering pink phone from earlier, he leaned into the young woman, snapping a generic picture. Holding her hand out for her phone, Misha was just about to hand it back when he peered closer at the image.

“Hmm, this isn’t terribly in focus, is it?”

Deleting the picture, he handed the girl her phone and turned to the next person.

“Wait! I want a re-do…”

Reaching out for Misha’s shoulder, she was intercepted by his handler who simply raised an eyebrow at the girl before turning and falling in line with Misha’s footsteps.

Having finished with taking pictures, the group dispersed. Although Misha had known it would only be a matter of time before people found out, he wished it had taken a little longer. The pictures had somehow been tagged with [Y/F/N]’s Twitter handle, so she was bound to know by now too. Misha was used to things like this happening, his private life rarely staying private. While he was fine with the exposure, he had to wonder how well [Y/F/N] was handling the attention.

Turns out, [Y/F/N] wasn’t handling it at all. Misha had opened the door to her room to find an empty, yet thoroughly mussed bed; the duvet in a heap on the ground. The top sheet was a twisted mass of ivory cotton and it looked as if [Y/F/N] had nested in the pillows, arranged as they were in a semi-circle amidst the middle of everything else.

Guessing she was in the bathroom, Misha approached the door. Curling his fingers, the man rapped quietly against the wood, waiting for a reply from within. When none came, he knocked a second time before lowering his hand to test the doorknob. The nickel-plated handle turned in his palm as he pushed the door inwards. Or, tried to, rather. Glancing through the small crack he’d succeeded in opening, he called out to the woman cradling her forehead as she slumped against the frame.

“[Y/F/N], can I come in?” The pitiful groan he received in response had him crouching on the floor in an attempt to get her to move from her place on the cool tile.

“I’m okay Mish..” Her words were slow and thick, a groan of unease permeating the small space as she moved to the other wall.

Upon getting into the bathroom, Misha’s expression changed to one of concern as he took in [Y/F/N]’s appearance. Helping her to her feet, he brushed hair back from her face, the skin damp with sweat.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say this isn’t a hangover, [Y/F/N].” “Food poisoning, maybe – but definitely not a hangover.”

“Let’s get you back in bed, it’s bound to be more comfortable than the sheet of ceramic tile you’re sitting on now.”

Propping the pillows up behind her once she’d crawled back onto the mattress, Misha left the room – only to come back moments later with a bucket of ice chips from the machine down the hall.

“I said I was fine, Misha.” “You should go, you’re going to be late as it is.”

Even sick, [Y/F/N] was reminding him of his schedule. Not that Misha paid any attention.

“They can wait for thirty seconds. Hell, by now people have gotten used to me being late.” The last was said with a grin and a wink as the man gathered things from around the room to make you more comfortable.

When the remote control, your phone, a bottle of anti-nausea medication and the book you’d been reading on the flight over had all been stacked neatly on the bedside table, only then did Misha step back.

“Funny how thirty seconds has turned into ten minutes.”

Grumbling under your breath, you were secretly flattered by all the attention. Misha was always hands-on and never failed to tell you how much he cared for you. Times like these, when it was evident in his actions though? That’s when you felt the luckiest. The most loved. It was an odd feeling, because, aside from family – you’d never had anyone in your life who put this kind of simple effort into making sure you were happy.

With a soft smile, Misha framed your lap with his arms – leaning in to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” “Please call me if you need anything. Okay?” “Anything at all.”

By the time he’d actually gotten downstairs and to the panel room, he could hear Rich straining to buy time. Apparently twenty minutes of impromptu stalling was tapping him off all his material. Sneaking between the heavy curtains, Misha lifted a finger to his lips - successfully silencing the excitable crowd.

“He’s...right behind me...isn’t he?” A lopsided grin spread across Rich’s face as he turned, gripping Misha’s shoulder.

“Fine people of California, I present to you, a man who knows not what a schedule is, nor cares for the nuances of sticking to that schedule - Misha Collins!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

TAGS: @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter thirty (sunrise with the old man)

October 23, 1988. Oswego, New York.

I'm laying in something cold. Cold and wet. Am I alive?

I open my eyes. Yes. There's the sky right above me, turning into a richer shade of gray and violet with the setting sun and growing drearier with the impending snow.

Wait a minute, is it snowing?

No. Not as far as I can tell anyways. But it did snow a lot at some point because I'm laying in a snow drift. I roll my head over to my right to find a stretch of pure white snow covering someone's yard. I roll my head to the left at the sight of Lars laying face down in the snow.

I think I fell on a pine cone or a rock because something's poking me in the back. Wincing, I lift myself upright right there on the snow and recline back on my elbows. I recognize the hills off in the distance, and the glimmering lights of the power plant nestled inside of the trees.

Looks like we're back in Oz Town.

I blink several times and shake my head about. Something cold and prickly brushes against the nape of my neck. I set a hand on the back of my head to feel the tiny ice crystals formed on my hair. It's not from the snow: I actually have ice in my hair after having showered back at Lars' place and the roots near my head not having dried all the way as of yet. In fact, I shake my head about and the ice makes a tinkling noise upon the movement.

Lars groans and spits before lifting up his head.

“—focking—what happened?”

“We're back upstate, my neck of the woods,” I inform him. “As far as last night goes though, I don't really know.”

It's difficult even for me to sit upright in the snow but after a flailing of my legs and a roll onto my side followed by my stomach, I manage to get on my hands and knees. I crawl off the thick pile of snow onto a rather thin patch and set my knees on the sidewalk. I turn my head to the left again and there stands Black Orchid with its neon sign flickering on against the snowy darkening sky. I glance over my shoulder at the sight of Lars struggling to crawl towards the sidewalk: his hands sink into the thick snow, which meets up with his shoulder. I stoop over the edge of the sidewalk to help lift him up out of the snow. At least there's no ice on the walkway.

But the muscles in my back and in my stomach quiver at the feeling of lifting him up once again. Indeed, once I lift him out of the snow drift, I almost lose my balance and fall over onto the drift on the other side of the sidewalk with him on top of me. But I catch myself and he's leaning up against me. I straighten him upright as he's pressed up against me. In the waning light, he's looking as though he's about ready to pass out.

“We couldn't go back to Portland?” he demands, his speech slurring. “My wife'll kill me, though.”

“As far as I can tell, she can suck both of our dicks,” I assure him, pushing myself off of him so he can have a little room to breathe. “Come on, let's go where it's warm—and where there are those girls, too.”

He shakes his head but I can tell he's more lucid now more than ever even as he rubs his eyes and gives the hair at the back of his head a shake. A couple of snowflakes drift down around him: I peer up at the darkening sky and I know it's only the beginning for tonight. I grab him by the arm and hurry up the walkway with him to the front step, and memories of that night are coming back to me, even though it was a little more than a week ago. So much has happened as of late that it feels so distant and so long ago. I knock on the door panel, just like the first time.

I'm met with silence for a moment and then the door swings open to reveal those copper colored ringlets once again.

“Hello, Morgan,” I greet her.

“Oh, hey!” she exclaims, beaming. “We were wondering where you guys have been—come on in!”

I keep my grip on Lars' arm as we head into the club once again. Mrs. Hamilton enters the room from the back doorway with a look of concern on her face.

“Joey! Lars! Oh thank God you boys are here again.” She strides on over to me with her arms wide open and throws them around me.

“You heard about what happened to your friends, right?” she asks me with a look of concern upon her face.

“Of course,” I reply to her, “I visited Brick in the hospital, but I don't know where Spence ran off to. I don't even know what happened to him.”

“Spencer was the one who donated a lot of his blood to Brick,” Morgan clarifies.

“That's right! A—strapping young lady came to pick him up at the hospital down there in Syracuse but I don't know anything else other than that.”

“Yeah—that was Sonia,” I fill in. “And I don't know what happened to her, either.”

“How about her, the other girl—what was her name, Maya?”

“Maya, yeah.”

“Let's just say she's,” Lars joins in, “—kind of in a rough spot right now, back in Seattle.”

“I did happen to find out a little bit more about her, too, though,” I point out, “like, she's… she's been around the place a bit.”

“How so?” asks Morgan, folding her arms over her chest and giving her hair a toss back with a flick of her head.

“Foster child—I guess she was also, um… kinda raped.”

Morgan gasps in horror at that and clasps her hands to her mouth. Mrs. Hamilton closes her eyes and winces.

“Yeah, but the thing about it is,” Lars fills in for me, “we do not really know for sure as of yet, like Sonia hasn't said a peep about it.”

“And I've always been kind of reluctant to take her to the cops for this very reason,” I admit. “So what exactly happened with Brick? Besides—y'know. Ending up in Syracuse.”

“Lap dance gone horribly wrong,” Mrs. Hamilton says in a single breath.

“Horribly, horribly wrong,” Morgan adds.

“Okay, that makes sense now,” I stop them right there before my stomach turns at the very thought of it. I rub my hands together as I catch a glimpse of Lupe and Louie entering the room from the kitchen behind Morgan.

“Hey, Lupe,” I greet her with a sly grin.

“Hey, I was wondering what happened to you,” she replies with a gentle peck on my cheek. Louie puts her arms around me and then does the same for Lars.

“So are you two fellas spending the night tonight with us again?” Mrs. Hamilton asks us after fetching up a sigh.

“We might as well,” Lars confesses with a shrug as Louie stands next to him with her arm around his shoulders, “it was starting to snow when we came in a little bit ago.”

“Cindy's on her day off, by the way,” Morgan informs us, pushing a ringlet behind her ear.

“So no chicken soup tonight,” I conclude.

“We can still have fun, though,” Mrs. Hamilton points out. “Come on, girls, let's get these boys something nice and hot.”

They double back towards the kitchen which allows Lars and me to have a seat at the table closest to the kitchen door. I watch Lupe bring up the rear with her big hoop earrings and her fitted black top accentuating her body. I had encountered many girls the past several days but there was something about Lupe, something quiet and I liked it. I even think Louie's pretty hot herself.

“Those two girls--Lupe and Louie, sure are something,” I confess to Lars. He seems distracted, staring up at the ceiling and over to the other side of the room. “What's up?”

He frowns, but doesn't reply.

“Lars.”

He peers over his shoulder as if something's following him. I roll my eyes at him and I don't think he notices me. I think back to the first night he and I were here together, and the fact he still didn't answer my question.

“Okay, I'm gonna be frank with you,” I tell him in a firm voice. “I'm gonna ask you why'd you even come here again and your answer better not be to get away from your wife.”

He nibbles his bottom lip as he gazes on at me.

“Alright. You really want to know?”

“Yes. The fact you never told me the first time should tell you that yes, I really wanna know why you're here.

“Okay. I've been looking for Maya myself for the same reason why you are so reticent on taking her to the authorities. She has been missing for over a year—like she went missing last summer over in… Boston, I believe. Boston or Amherst, some place in Massachusetts, I can't fully remember. And the police were taking so long that the trail fell cold. But because I have a tie to her, I wasn't one to give up on her. I took matters into my own hands and began research on her, drawing conclusions on her and whatnot. Since Metallica toured up here around then, and we went on break back in September, I took the opportunity to come up here on my own terms. But it's come with a price. In fact, I became so obsessed with finding her that… my wife fell off the wagon.”

I blink several times at him. I don't know what to make of this.

“That's it?” I ask, never changing the tone of my voice.

“That's it. That is how the cookie crumbles, my friend.”

“You dragged me all the way over to Portland and Seattle and then down to New Orleans for that?”

“Well, not exactly. I took you there because I felt those places would help you find some answers, too. I knew you were vehement on finding out what happened to her as well. I thought we could look together. I took you there because—it got a little lonely going at it solo for a while.”

“Tell me about it.” I gesture to myself. “Guy who got kicked out of Anthrax for unknown reasons. That still doesn't explain why you're here in Black Orchid and upstate New York, though.”

“I came here because I got word that her sister was over in Rochester doing a book tour and I forgot Marcia and Sonia were there at the moment, and so I swung by here in Oswego to relax a bit.”

“Wait a minute, doing a book tour?”

“Yes.”

I pause and knit my eyebrows together.

“Is her name… Candace Bradley?”

“Yes,” he replies, reluctant, “how'd you know?”

“Her mom is your landlady down in New Orleans.”

“Really? How'd you find that one out?”

“She got my shoes off the telephone wires and we chatted a bit. I guess Delphine threw them up there after we blacked out last night.”

“Wait. Why would Delphine do that?”

“Why did even we black out last night?”

Before Lars can say anything else, Morgan darts through the kitchen doors with big bowls of clam chowder and accompanying spoons in either hand. I thank her as she gave us both kisses on the cheek. Now I have even more questions as I wolfed down the cubes of potato and chunks of clams. God, I'm so hungry: then again, I barely ate all day and I didn't pay my tab at the restaurant down in New Orleans, either.

I'm so hungry in fact that I ask for a second bowl and a third.

And once I lay down the spoon after cleaning out my fourth helping, I'm about ready to fall onto the floor with my pants unbuttoned. Lars meanwhile has had five and the very sound of that is enough to make me want to take off my pants.

“My goodness, you boys were hungry tonight,” Mrs. Hamilton remarks.

“We barely ate anything today,” Lars tells her, bowing his head and covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well, I did,” I correct him, taking off my jacket and laying it over the back of my chair, “you didn't really eat anything so to speak.” I have a hand on my stomach, which feels as hard as a rock. I think I ate too much.

No, I definitely ate too much as I'm getting up and feeling like I'm about ready to fall over.

And I'm amazed I even managed to walk on over to the nook I took a nap in the first day I was here. I lay down on my back with both of my hands resting on my belly. I'm about ready to unbutton my pants when Lars strolls on over to me with a punch drunk grin on his face. I let out a low whistle.

“Holy hell, that was delicious,” he mutters to me. “Tasty, in fact.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” I reply with kind of a snicker. “I could eat about a thousand more of those stupid things, though.”

“Me, too.”

We fall into silence before slowly looking at one another.

“Nahhhh,” we both say.

“I'd weigh two tons,” he points out.

“My stomach would get all bloated,” I follow along, “can you imagine a skinny minny like me with a big potbelly on me?”

“I really can't, man.” He taps on my knees. “Scooch.”

“Why?”

“I want to lay down,” he insists.

“Go upstairs.” I gesture behind my head. “There's a bed up there. There's a couple of beds up there.”

“Why are you laying here then?”

“'Cause I can. I also need to rest for a minute—I've got about two pounds of clam chowder inside my belly right now and I can't hardly think straight.”

“I will carry you.”

“Me?” I lift my head up to better look at him.

“Yes. Hey, you've picked me up before.”

“Yeah, well—”

“What?”

“You're—you.”

“Oh, come on, man.”

“What?”

“It's because I'm short, isn't it?”

“No.” I lay my head back down and rest the backs of my hands over my eyes.

“Admit it,” he challenges me. “You don't think I can pick you up even though I'm a lot heavier than you are.”

“Maybe if I didn't have half of Lake Ontario inside of my stomach, you probably could.”

“Okay, now we're just pulling out threads on this one. Besides, even though you are taller than me, you are not that much taller than me, Joey. And you're way skinnier than me.”

He smacks his lips and I can hear fabric rustling.

“Tell you what,” he starts again, “I carry you up the stairs to the loft, and when we see her again, I demand Sonia give us some answers. I also make it up to you—and we go to Seattle for leisure and I treat you to one of Marcia's donuts back in Portland.”

I lift my hands off my eyes to see him standing before me with his belly poking out over his belt and his hands pressed to his hips.

“You will?” I ask him.

“Yes.”

I nibble on my bottom lip. “How about—you carry me upstairs, tuck me into bed, do all that, and all the while remain honest with me until we uncover the full truth about Maya.”

“Well—” He glances off to the side.

“No deal then.” I put my hands back onto my eyes. I hear him smack his lips again.

“How about—I carry you upstairs, tuck you into bed, do all that, remain truthful about her—and give you twenty dollars.”

I lift my hands off my eyes again.

“Double or nothing and you admit you've got a thing for Lizzy.”

“Dude!”

“Lars—”

He sighs, exasperated. “Alright, fine.”

I'm laying perfectly still as he slips his hands under my shoulders and my thighs. He groans and grunts but by some miracle he actually does it. The only problem is I'm all scrunched up in his arms as he's walking over to the staircase. I've got my head smooshed up against his chest and my arms coiled up against my chest, and even with the full feeling inside of my stomach, I'm actually quite comfortable. But I don't think he is for a minute, reaching the top of the stairs and breathing heavy. He stops, still holding me close to him, and I want to laugh.

“Hey, man, a bet's a bet,” I tell him.

“Of course—of—focking—course.”

He continues on over the floor to the second staircase.

By the time we reach the top, he's huffing and puffing and about ready to blow a house down. But he continues onto the bed on the right and lays me down there on my back. He falls onto his back, exhausted. I slip my hands underneath my head.

“Tuck yourself in, man,” he pants, his chest heaving. “I'll give you—forty dollars—in the—in the morning. And yes, I—” He gasps and swallows and lays there with his mouth wide open for a few seconds. “—I have a thing for Lizzy.”

I close my eyes as I shake my head at that. That's all I want right then. That, and pushing off my shoes, and letting them fall onto the floor next to the bed, and falling asleep.

I wake up to the feeling of my hand on my stomach, which is still plenty full from the night before, and my feet as cold as ice. But I'm quite comfortable laying there on the bed as I roll my head over the pillow. I open my eyes to find gray morning light already and the faint, silvery silhouette of a heavy Army jacket.

“'Morning, Mr. Lang,” I whisper to him, my voice breaking from a lack of water. The sun's incoming rays shine over the broken clouds outside and the afterglow shines over his gaunt face. He merely smiles at me as I lay there staring at him, fading in and out with the darkness. The sides of his coat seem to dissolve into nothing, as if they're being pulled into a black hole, like the one in my dreams. In fact, the very sight of him right next to me feels like a dream because I don't have my dream catcher on hand again. But he leans over my face and my neck with a thoughtful look.

“Your friend is going to be okay,” he informs me in an extra breathy voice.

“Which one?” I ask him, blinking several times for my sight to clear up. “Brick or Spence?”

But he doesn't answer me. Instead, he fades out with the incoming rays of the sunrise. I drop my gaze to find Lars under the covers of the bed next to me: I recognize the Betty Boop tattoo on the arm holding him from behind. I shake my head and lift my gaze to the ceiling overhead.

“You dirty dog you,” I breathe out.

[psychospeak-blog]

Won’t Go Slowly // 48

A/N: Name reveal time! Also, hella long

One // Two  // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen// Twenty // Twenty One // Twenty Two // Twenty Three // Twenty Four// Twenty Five // Twenty Six // Twenty Seven // Twenty Eight // Twenty Nine // Thirty // Thirty One // Thirty Two // Thirty Three // Thirty Four// Thirty Five // Thirty Six // Thirty Seven // Thirty Eight // Thirty Nine // Forty // Forty One // Forty Two // Forty Three // Forty Four // Forty Five // Forty Six // Forty Seven

You stretched in bed, noticing, even then, that your belly felt so much smaller than it had before.  

And then you remembered, a smile coming across your face even before you opened his eyes.

He was here.

That was the first thing you thought as you became aware that you were in the hospital and light was shining through your eyelids, finally having gotten more than over an hour of straight sleep.  You blinked open your eyes, seeing that the curtain was still drawn over the windows, and you could see light from a phone, illuminating a face sitting in the chair in the corner of the room.

"Tyler?" you asked, your voice sounding scratchy and a little weak, and the face turned towards you, smiling, the phone being set down so his face was being covered by shadows again.

"Hey, baby, how are you feeling?"

You looked down, at the clear bassinet that had been at the side of your bed all night, which was now empty, except for blankets scrunched up at the bottom, and you bolted upright.  "Where is he?"

"They just took him to change him, babe, he's right in there," Tyler said, pointing at the adjoining bathroom, and now you could see the light coming under the door, and hear his quiet little cries ever now and then, and you relaxed back into the bed.  "Sorry, we were  trying not to wake you up, didn't mean to scare you."

"That's okay," you said, running your hand over your face.  "I'm a little out of it."

"Yeah, well I think you ran the equivalent of like two to three marathons last night, so I think you're okay," he quirked his lips at you, coming over to squeeze you on the shoulder.  "You feeling okay?  Did you get any sleep?"

"A little," you said, blinking and then squinting at him, "Why are you not wearing a shirt?"

"Oh, I was doing skin-to-skin with him," Tyler said, scratching the back of his neck while your heart absolutely melted, and part of you wished you woke up a few minutes earlier.  Or that something had taken pictures.  "The nurses said it's good for him."

Part of you wondered if the nurses had only told him that to get him to take his shirt off, but they had actually been really great.  And it wasn't like they'd just been sitting there staring at him.  Plus, they'd encouraged you to do it, too.

"Is that okay?" Tyler asked as he put his shirt back on and you scoffed a little laugh.

"You don't have to ask me."

"Yeah, I do, you're his mom."

"Yeah, but you're his..." you said, "he's yours, too."

"No, he's not. He's yours."

"No, I know," you said softly, and then let out a breath, looking up at Tyler.  "But he's kinda yours, too. In a way. "

Tyler looked down at you, chewing a little on his lip as he thought it through.  "No, I know. I just..."

"He's not just mine," you said, feeling your emotions rise, "there's a lot of people who love him."

"Awe, babe, don't cry, I know," Tyler said, his arm coming to wrap around you squeezing your shoulder.

"I'm not sad, I'm so happy," you said.

"So, this crying thing is not gonna stop now that he's out of you?" Tyler asked.

You just smiled, shaking your head "no", a couple tears running down your cheeks, and you sat forward, taking your back off the mattress behind you.  "You just...you don't have to ask my permission to hold him.  Or to do something to take care of him."

Tyler smiled softly at you.  "Okay, okay, I'll try," he said, "I don't really know what I'm doing though, if it's okay, so I might be asking you a lot of questions."

"I don't know what I'm doing either," you laughed.

"Yeah, you do," Tyler said, leaning over to place a kiss on his forehead.  "You're his mom."

The bathroom door opened, and you turned to see the light shining into the room, the nurse cradling him, his little cries making you sit up a bit more in the bed, reaching your arms out towards him, and then you opened the robe you'd brought from home, revealing your tank top underneath, and she helped you settle him on your chest, her covering him with a blanket since he was naked other than his diaper, a little hat, and his hospital bracelets.

"Good morning, baby," you said, looking down at him, rubbing your hand up and down his back and you tried to soothe his little cries.

"We'll let him calm down a bit, and then you can try to feed him," she said, and you nodded, unable to take your gaze off him, "Y/N, I'm going to get you some breakfast, and some juice and water.  Do you want some ibuprofen?"

"Yes, please," you said, shifting a little on the bed.

"Ice?"

"Yes, please," you said, looking down at your son still, "Thank you."

As soon as she left, Tyler whispered, "What is the ice for?"

You didn't say anything, because you thought it was rather obvious.

"Do you have to ice your boobs so the milk is cold?"

You immediately started laughing, which was really not a good thing, considering you had a fresh baby laying on your chest.

"No," you said, "Ow, don't make me laugh."

"I'm sorry, I was just asking."

"Little babies drink warm milk," you said, biting your lip to try not to laugh now, tears running down your face.  You looked at Tyler, who now had his arms crossed over his chest, a little redness creeping into his cheeks and his gaze darting away like he was embarrassing.  "Have you ever seem a woman walking around with an ice pack strapped to her chest?"

"No....." Tyler said slowly, and then looked back to you, "I don't see a lot of women with babies, okay?"

You laughed, wincing just a little.

"You alright?

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a bit sore."

"Where?"

"Everywhere?" You said, and then looked at Tyler's concerned face, as he winced as well. "I'm fine, Tyler, I don't even care, I'm so happy."

You bounced the baby a little more, feeling hin warm against you, listening to his whimpers fade, his mouth slowly opening and closing  his dark eyes blinking. "Is my mom still here?"

"No, I told her she could go sleep for a bit, so she went to your house.  Do you need her?"

"No, he might be okay to eat now, but I'll wait," you said, fixing his hat.  At least he seemed content now.  "I thought you left to go get sleep?"

He'd been there for a while, while they weighed and measured him, and checked him out.  And, even after Nicole and Danielle left he'd fallen asleep sitting up on the padded bench, which your mom had slept in the reclining chair, until finally you'd told Tyler to go home and get some rest.

"Yeah, I did," he said, shaking his head a little and his hair looked unruly, and you could only imagine yours looked about the same, "I couldn't sleep, though, so I came back."

"You're not tired?"

"Honestly, not really," he shrugged.

"You don't have stuff to do?"

"No," he said, and then cracked a smile.  "Why? You trying to get rid of me?"

"No, I'm trying not to get you in trouble," you said, "of course I want you to stay."

Tyler smiled, and then his eyes flicked downwards.  "His eyes are open," he said, taking a step towards him, running his hand over the baby's head and crouching down so he was in his eyesight.  "Hey little man."

You blinked away your emotion, and then swallowed it, lifting his hat up a little as you tried to look down.  "Were his eyes closed when you had him?"

"I don't know, I couldn't see," Tyler said, "he was making really cute noises though."

"Like what?" You asked, turning the baby in you arms so you were cradling him and you could look at his eyes, but he started making little grumpy noises, stretching his arms and legs out.

"I don't know, like little noises with his mouth," Tyler said, "he sounded happy. Not like he does now."

"Yeah, could you grab a blanket and put it down on the bed for me, please?" You asked, nodding towards the ones that were in his bassinet, watching as Tyler grabbed it, coming to try and cover him like the nurse had, "like, flatten it out, I think he wants to be swaddled."

He laid it down diagonally to you, smoothing out any wrinkles and you were about to put the baby down, when Tyler reached in front, flipping down the top of the blanket like you'd showed him, and then he grinned at you.  

"Thanks," you said, laying the baby down, moving your fingers over his chest, and took in his open eyes, and how long his eyelashes were.

"He's gorgeous," Tyler said, hovering behind you, and just staring at him like you were.  "He looks like just like you."

"Do you think so?" You asked.  Because, as you saw it, you really saw a lot of Tyler in him.  He definately has Tyler's lips, and his cheeks.

"Mhmm," he said, so confidently that you couldn't argue with him.  "For sure, he looks like you."

"He has your toes though," you said, wiggling them before you put the blanket over him.

"Yeah, he does," Tyler laughed, "I'm sorry, bud, but they're way cuter on you than me."

You smiled, finishing swaddling him up, and started looking like he was struggling hard to keep his eyes open, Tyler moving close to you, as you both looked at him.

"You did so good, babe," he said, moving his arm around your shoulders, as he sat down gingerly on the side of the bed,  placing a kiss on the side of your head, "I'm so proud of you."

You smiled, leaning into him, but keeping your eyes trained on the little human you'd created in front of you, because you couldn't look away. "You did so good."

"I didn't do anything," he laughed.

You tore your gaze away from the baby to look at Tyler for only a second, and then slid your hand under to support his head, picking him up to cradle him because if you weren't looking at him you needed to be touching him.  

"Yeah, you did, you rubbed my back, and held my hand, and brought me stuff," you said, "you listened to me yell at you."

"You didn't yell at me," Tyler laughed, "you were really nice, actually, you kept saying please and thank you, and you kept apologizing.  Even though you could have totally been cussing me out."

"I'm pretty sure I remember screaming "no!" and "stop!" you at some point."

"Yeah," Tyler, tilting his head off to one side a shrugging, "I mean, you kind of did, yeah, but, to be honest, I was expecting a lot more yelling.  You were just pushing your body so hard, if you needed to scream to get through it, then you needed to scream.  But you did it.  And once you got to start pushing him out, it was, like, game over.  You got this look in your eye, like you were so intense and focused but you were, like, super loving at the same time? It was crazy. It was the most amazing thing I've ever gotten to be a part of."

And, somehow, it wasn't really his words that got you so much as his tone: he sounded absolutely in awe of the whole experience.

"I am so glad you were looking at him, not me, though. Because I was bawling like a baby," Tyler said, looking down at the baby.  "Actually, not even like a baby, he was way cooler than me."

"You were crying that much?" You asked.  You knew, for sure, that he'd teared up.

"I was a mess," he said, "I'm so happy everyone was looking at him, it was really embarrassing."

You looked over at Tyler, who was now almost resting his head on your shoulder, watching the baby like you were.  

"Don't say awe," he said, "Just don't, I'm fragile."

You laughed, and he rubbed his beard against your neck.  "Seriously," he continued, "If I cry, then you're gonna cry, and then he's gonna cry, and then it's just gonna be chaos, so don't go 'awe' at me."

"Okay," you laughed, looking back down at the baby, "Awe, he's yawning."

"He's tired," Tyler said.

"But his eyes are open," you said.

"Yeah, what colour are they?  Blue?"

"Yeah, but they might change," you said, watching as Tyler leaned over a little closer, and you watched the baby's hazy eyes just wavered in Tyler's general direction, and you could actually hear Tyler grin from your side.

"Who's that? Is that your ---?" You said to the baby, and then stopped, looking back at Tyler, "what do you want him to call you?"

"Uncle Ty-Ty," he answered without missing a beat.

"He is not calling you Uncle Ty-Ty,'" you scoffed.  

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not calling you Uncle Ty-Ty."

"Well, it's too late, him and me already talked about it."

"Him and I," you corrected.

"I thought you would be tired," Tyler laughed, pointing his finger towards you like he was going to poke you but couldn't quite decide where would be okay, so he just settled for booping you on the nose,  and then he looked back at the baby.  "Does he have a name yet?"

"Yes, he does," you smiled, turning to look at Tyler.

"Well, are you going to tell me?"

"Yes," you laughed, looking back at the baby, and then back at Tyler again, unable to keep the smiling off your face, "It's Bentley."

"Bentley?" he repeated.

"Yeah," you answered, moving your free hand up and down the baby's chest, but keeping your eyes focused on Tyler.  "Bentley Tyler Y/L/N."

Tyler's face, with had previously been smiling, leaning towards the baby like he was trying to match the face with the name dropped in shock, and he stood up suddenly, taking a couple of steps back from the bed.  "You're shitting me."

"No," you shook your head, laughing and smiling, and then you pointed over to the whiteboard, where his name was written, that Tyler clearly hadn't even noticed.  "That's his name, Bentley Tyler.  Do you like it?"

"Do I like it?" he whispered, his eyes already brimmed red, and then he blinked, and tears starts running down his face, and your heart went into your throat, your eyes filling too, but the smile remained on your face, and Tyler just shifted his weight back and forth between his feet.  "Babe...." He said, like he was pleading with you, like he couldn't handle it or put into words how he felt, and you couldn't really handle it either.  Like, you had expected his reaction just to be a big grin or something.  But this was way better than you'd even imagined.

"He wouldn't be here without you," you said, "I can't ever begin to thank you.  And you're, just, you're a part of him, so yeah."

And now Tyler smirked at you, just a little, "I did the fun part, though, you did all the work."

"I don't mean that," you said, "Well, obviously that.  But the way you were there for me, when I was pregnant, and in labour, you were amazing, Tyler. Even before I got pregnant.  I couldn't have done any of this without you."

"You're sure, though, like...?" he asked, and you laughed at how unprepared he was for all of this.

"Yes, I'm positive.  100%," you said, rocking the baby just a little, "I love his name so much."

"I love you guys so much," he said, stepping back towards you and hugging you, his hand going on your arm where you were holding the baby, and he placed a kiss to your forehead and you could feel just how wet his face was with tears and then he leaned down, kissing the baby's forehead, too, just over his hat, and then he stood back up, running his hands over his face and then through his hair, which only made him look like more of a mess, to be honest.  

"Do you like the Bentley part, too?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's not as great as the Tyler part, that's my favourite, but it suits him, and it'd get a little confusing if you called him 'Tyler', too," he said, "Wait, is this why there's that 'B' pillow in his room?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I thought it stood for baby," he said, and you laughed, "Or blob.  Aw, do you remember when he was just a little blob?  And now he's got like arms, and legs, and toes.  And fingers. It's so crazy.  Like, we just fucked, and it made an actual human being, and he's cute.  It's so crazy, you made that."

"Well, we did."

"No, I know, but you grew him so you get more credit," he said, "But, yeah, we did make that.  We made a Bentley."

You laughed a little looking back at him, and then saw he was crying again, and he leaned forward into your neck, "Please don't tell anyone about this."

"Okay," you laughed, leaning your head against his because your hands were occupied.

"I think I need to be swaddled, and given a pacifier," he said, "I see now why you were crying all the time."

"Does this mean you'll stop making fun of me?"

"Nope," he quipped, smiling against you, and then he stood up from the bed when there was a soft knock at the door.  

"Hi, I'm Allison, I'm a lactation consultant," she said, stepping forward towards you, and you just smiled at her because you had no hands free to shake hers.  "How's he doing?"

"I think he's getting hungry," you said.

"Do you want to try to feed him in the chair?" she asked, and you agreed, letting her take Bentley and hand him over to Tyler so she could help you up, transfixed as you watched her gently pass him to Tyler and making sure that he had him, both of Tyler's arms held under the bundle like he was afraid to drop him, standing unmoving, just watching him the whole time, and she helped you stand up, you taking off your robe so you were just in your tank top before you sat down.

"Wow, you still look pregnant," Tyler said, and you both turned to look at him, however Allison looked much, much more shocked than you did.  "Oh my god, I mean, you still look great, obviously, like, that's a given.  I just wasn't expecting it, to be, like round, anymore, like I thought it'd look squishier, and like softer, that he was out?  Like deflated? Wow, I really cannot talk.  I am so sorry."

Allison continued to look absolutely mortified, while you were trying not to laugh, honestly.  "My uterus has to contract back down, Tyler, that's why I still look pregnant."

"Ohhh...." he said, "That makes sense.  I wasn't expecting you to go back to normal, like, you made a human being, your body is going to be different, not in a bad way, like..."

"I understand what you mean," you laughed, and he mouthed 'sorry' at you again, as the lactation consultant helped you get set up with a breastfeeding pillow and was asking you some more general questions about how breastfeeding had been going, and then you caught Tyler just starting at your bare chest and you gave him a look to warn him to keep his mouth shut, because you could tell that he was about to make a comment, probably about how big your nipples looked or something, until finally Tyler grinned and looked back down at the baby

"Could you bring him over here, please?" Allison asked.  

"Uhh.." Tyler said, moving one foot forward as if he was going to walk over, but he never took a step, his arms still cradled around Bentley.  "I kind of don't want to walk with him."

"Okay," she laughed under her breath, going over, and you wanted as Tyler ever so carefully handed him off.  It was adorable, really, because his arms and hands were so big compared to the baby, and he seemed almost kind of awkward with him.  She helped you get organized, and you tried to listen to her but you caught Tyler straight up staring at you, and you realized that, even though he'd been here when you fed the baby before, there'd been a lot of other people with you, and Tyler was in the corner of the room just there, not really watching like he was now, and you gave him a little look because you felt completely on display, and it didn't really feel as natural and beautiful as you thought it might feel yet, and you already had had gloved hands all over you, trying to help. Tyler blinked, and then tried to look put the window casually but the drapes were closed so he went over to open them, a little light brightening up the room even more, even though it was fairly overcast outside, looking like it might rain.  Or snow, actually, both of which might kind of suck.

"Sorry, is that too bright for him?" Tyler whispered, and you shook your head.  

"He's fine, why are you whispering?"

"She said he could get distracted easy when he's trying to eat," he whispered back,  and then he briefly looked down, pointing towards you, laughing under his breath.  "Hey, look how he's grabbing your tit."

"Tyler," you said through gritted teeth, just feeling the baby's hand resting on your chest as he fed.

He grimaced, already reaching for his zip-up.  "I'm just gonna go grab something to eat, I'll be back in a bit."

You tried not to laugh, as you finished feeding him, and then he was sleeping on your chest as you were eating your breakfast with one hand when Tyler came back in the room, and smiled at you, tilting his head almost immediately to look at Bentley's asleep face, and then his phone followed.  

"Does he look comfortable?"

"Yeah, he's all snuggled up," Tyler said, leaning over to show you the picture he'd just taken, and you couldn't get over the little wrinkle on the bridge of his nose he had when he slept.  Tyler sat down on the bench, looking through something on his phone, and then he looked up at you. "Is it alright if I send a picture of him to my mom?"

"Yes," you said easily, slightly surprised he hadn't already.

"You're sure?" Tyler said, raising his eyebrows as he continued to look at his phone. "Because once she sees him, she'll probably be begging to come visit."

"She can come visit," you said, taking a bite of your oatmeal.

"Really?" Tyler asked, and now you realized he'd been joking.  "Aren't you tired?"

"Yeah, but I don't care," you said, "she's coming to see him, not me, and I can barely get any sleep anyways, because they're in here to check on me or him every hour anyways.  If she wants to come see him, she can."

"Okay," Tyler said, typing on his phone.

"Just maybe tell her in the afternoon? They're gonna give him a bath, and he has to go get some tests done."

"Tests?" Tyler asked, "What kind of tests?"

"They're just routine tests, like to get his hearing tested and stuff, and they screen for certain things."

"Oh, okay."

"Do you want to go with him?" you asked, "They don't want me to walk around much yet, and I think someone's going to come help me shower when he's gone." You looked at Tyler hopefully, knowing it was kind of a big ask, but it kind of broke your heart to think about him going alone.  And Bentley pretty much knew Tyler as much as he did you.

"Umm..what do I have to do?"

"Nothing, you just have to take him there, and just stay with him."

"Do I have to hold him while I walk?" Tyler asked, looking at you like that might be a problem.

"No, he can just go in there," you said, nodding towards the plastic bassinet, "they just push him. You don't have to do anything, there's gonna be a nurse there.  Just stand there and keep an eye on him? Since I can't."

"Sure, that's no problem."

"Can you make sure that you keep on eye on him at all times? Please?" You weren't entirely sure why, because everybody in the hospital had been so great, but you just had these kind of irrational fears, that he might get scared and not know anyone around him. Or that he could somehow get lost, and you had this vision of Tyler somehow looking at his phone for a split second, only for the baby to be rolled off somewhere.  

"I will," he said, "I promise."

"Okay, good," you said, rubbing your free hand up and down Bentley's back before you went back to your breakfast.  

"It's hard to look at anything other than him when he's in a room, anyways."

"Yeah," you breathed, feeling the weight of him against you.  "He has to get a needle." You whispered the last word over his head, like you didn't want him to hear it.  Which was really a big reason why you didn't want to go with him, otherwise you probably would make them take you. "To get his blood tested."

"Oh, he'll be fine, babe," Tyler said, and you gave him a rather doubtful look. "You had to get an I.V. which is way worse than a blood test, and you were fine.  He's gonna be tough like his mama."

"He's just a little baby though."

"He'll be okay, I'll hold his hand," Tyler said, tilting his head a little, "it's gonna be worse for you then it is for him, you know."

"I know."

"I get it, though, I was so freaked out cutting his cord."

"What? Why?"

"Because I thought it was going to hurt him," Tyler said, looking at you curiously, "You didn't hear me asking the nurse?"

You shook your head "no".

"Yeah, he kind of freaks me out a little bit," Tyler said, "Not that he's freaky, just that I don't want to do anything that's gonna make him upset.  I'll let the doctors and nurses be the bad guys, and I'll just cuddle him."

"That's the best part," you said.  

"Mhmmm..." Tyler agreed, leaning in closer towards the baby, "I'm gonna cuddle with you, and play with you, and buy you cool stuff, and let you do whatever you want.  And if your Mom is being mean to you and not letting you do cool stuff, you can come stay with your Uncle Ty-Ty and we'll work together to get her to change the rules.  Because sometimes she gets a little crazy."

"Tyler," you laughed.

"Shhh..." he said towards you, resting his head above the baby's, "The Tyler's are talking."

You laughed, and then you were forced to pretend that you were looking out the window and not listening into their conversation.  After that, a nurse came in to give Bentley his first bath, which you made Tyler record on your phone, which mostly consisted of him being laid out on a towel by the sink as he was given a sponge bath, which he was really not happy about at all, to which Tyler just looked at you and mouthed the word "mean" pointing towards the nurse.  He did, however, seem to enjoy having his hair rinsed under the sink, and then you were enticed to want to kick Tyler because he made a comment to Bentley that he should keep any girls he finds who are willing to give him a bath like that.  After that, you went to go shower while Tyler and Bentley went off to get his tests done, and you were sitting back in bed, watching T.V. when Tyler came back in, pushing Bentley in the bassinet in front of him until he was next to your bed again, and you couldn't quite tell if he was hanging his head or just looking at the baby.

"That was awful," Tyler said, and you sat up a little, trying to look at the baby, "He's fine, he's sleeping."  He was, too, all wrapped up with a pacifier in his mouth.  It seemed clichéd to say, but he really did look angelic.  

"What happened?"

"Oh, his hearing's fine, by the way," he said, "But they took this needle, and they pricked his heel, and then they were like rubbing his little foot to get blood out of it."

"Did he cry?" you asked, already getting up to pick up the baby.  You knew, probably, that you shouldn't wake a sleeping baby, but you couldn't help it, you really just needed to hold him. Luckily, he only stirred just a little, but you rocked him a little and he settled, and you suspected he was probably  really tired, both from his bath and his little outing.

"Yes, a little," Tyler said, and then he came back over to the bed where you were now sitting with the baby, coming to sit next to you and he looked like he just wanted to rest his head on your chest but the he reconsidered, leaning into your shoulder.  "I really didn't like it."

"Did you cry?"

"No, but I wanted to, I was trying to keep it together for him," he said, and you just kind of all laid there for a minute, the sound of the television on in the background.  "They gave me this, I don't know why."

You looked down to see that Tyler was holding his wrist, with a hospital bracelet wrapped around it, next to yours.

"Oh, that's just to say that you can stay with him," you said, "He's got one, too, in case he gets too close to the doors."

"What?" Tyler asked, "How is he going to get to the doors? He's a baby."

"If someone took him," you said, "All the babies have alarms, it's a security thing."

"People steal babies?" Tyler asked, sitting up now, his voice a little loud, and then he seemed to realize the baby was sleeping, but you didn't really think anything would wake him up right now.

"Unfortunately, sometimes, yeah," you said, "It just makes sure he's safe, it's a precaution. They just usually put bracelets on the baby, and the mom and the dad."

"Oh," Tyler said, and was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "Do you think that I might get in trouble for being with him because I'm not actually his Dad?"

"No," you said, "That's why they gave you the bracelet, so they know it's okay."

"But the papers?" he asked, tracing his fingers over the blankets.  

"The papers don't matter, Tyler, they're just for legal reasons, they're not to keep you away from being with him, you're still part of his family."

"No, I know, I know what it's like at home, I just didn't know in the hospital, like if I did a thing with him that Dads normally do that I'd get in trouble. "

"No," you laughed a little, "that's not how it works.  Like, if you weren't here, then my mom would be, and she would go with him, and they'd give her a bracelet."

"So it's just for who you say can be with him if you're not there, but I don't have to, like, make decisions for him or anything?"

"Yes," you said.  "Like, if you didn't have that bracelet, they wouldn't let you bring him back to the room by yourself, someone would come with you."

"So you knew that I wouldn't steal him?" Tyler said, a little smile on his face.  

"Well, you can't take him out of the ward anyways, I can't even yet because he's not ready to leave the hospital."

"I still could have taken him cruising to look and see if there are any girl babies around. While his mom isn't watching."

"Tyler," you laughed.

"I couldn't handle that, I was just trying to get him back to you as fast as possible without banging him into stuff."

You laughed, because he was seriously so concerned about being too much for the baby, and it was seriously cute, and you could just imagine him white knuckling the edge of the bassinet   And you loved, seriously loved, the way he wasn't trying to hide from you just how unsure he felt. Or how emotional he'd been.

"I think they want me to try and walk a little bit later in the hallways, so we can all go."

"Yeah, I think it's better that you're there anyways, in case something goes wrong with him, because I don't know what to do if he cries," Tyler said, and then you heard his phone beep from his pocket.  "My mom's here, I'm gonna go get her, okay?"

"Yeah," You smiled, watching as he got up.  You were vaguely aware that you had no makeup on and probably looked exhausted, your hair already having gone back into a top knot after your shower, but you didn't really care, and you knew she would understand.  You could hear their voices in the hallway, and then you Tyler opened the door back up, stepping in and looking back at his mom, who had a gift bag in her hands, as if he wanted to see her reaction.

"Hi," she said, in a hushed voice, smiling, taking a couple of steps into the room, and Tyler shut the door behind her.  "I won't stay for long, just wanted to come say hi."

"Thank you," you said, "He's sleeping right now."  You turned the bundle towards her, letting her know that it was okay to come closer.

"Oh, he's beautiful," Jackie said, setting the gift bag she had in her hands down on the foot of the bed, taking her glasses on then off, like she couldn't decide which was the better way to see him. "Congratulations."

"What are you doing?" Tyler laughed, "Just look at him like a normal person."

You both ignored her, bouncing the baby a little, and she hugged you gently and as much as she could while you were holding the baby. "This is Bentley."

"Aw, that's perfect," she said, "Hi Bentley."

"Guess what his middle name is, Mom?" Tyler asked, "It's a name you really, really like."

"What's that?"

"Tyler," Tyler said, and he looked so, so happy.  "His name is Bentley Tyler Y/L/N."

"Really?" she asked, looking at you, and you just smiled and nodded, trying to take in her looking at the baby.

"Did you want to hold him?" you asked.

"Yeah, of course, just let me wash my hands first," she said, going into the bathroom, and Tyler came back over towards you, leaning in.  

"Sorry, was it okay that I told her?"

"Yeah," you said, softly back, "I wanted you to tell her."

"Okay, good," Tyler said, and Jackie came back from watching her hands, and you lifted the baby up slightly towards her, while she bent down to pick him up.  "Careful of his neck, Mom, you gotta support his head," Tyler said, and you laughed a little, "Wait, you know what to do, never mind."

You laughed again, watching Jackie rock a little back and forth with Bentley, her eyes transfixed on him. "Oh, he's perfect, he's so perfect."

You couldn't really say anything, because it was true.  "I know."

"I thought he was gonna be weird looking, but he's really cute."

"Why did you think he was going to be weird looking?" Jackie laughed.

"Because Y/N said he might be weird looking when he came out, but he looked so cute," Tyler said, and you both laughed.

"How are you feeling, honey?" Jackie asked, breaking her eyes away from Bentley for just a moment.

"Alright, I'm okay."

"Tyler said you were in labour for a long time."

"Yeah, I was," you said, "I had really bad back labour, too.  But it's okay, it was worth it."

"Yeah," Jackie smiled, looking down at Bentley again, "they kind of do that, don't they?"

"She did so good though, Mom, you should have seen her She was like, " Tyler said, pointing to his eyes, "So focused.  And strong.  And she didn't ever swear."

"He did really good, too," you said, nodding towards Tyler, and he looked kind of bashful.

"No, you did," he said, "It was so badass, she was completely badass.  All moms are badass."

"You can open that, Y/N," Jackie said, nodding towards the gift bag she'd put on the bed.

"You didn't have to get me anything," you said, "You already did."

"Yeah, but you just had a baby," she said, "it's just a little something."

"I can open it if you don't want it," Tyler said, and you rolled your eyes slightly, pulling the package towards you, and pulling out the tissue paper on top.

"Those are for you," she said, as you pulled out a box of chocolates, tied with some drinking chocolate mixes on top.

"Oooh," you said, "I didn't even realize, but I so want hot chocolate. These smell so good, too, thank you."

"Just make sure to hide them from Tyler," Jackie joked.

"Just tell me what ones you want and I'll save them for you," Tyler said, and you rolled your eyes, smiling at the same time as you set them down on the bed.  You reached back in, pulling out a pair of little striped socks that had stuffed puppy dogs on the top of the foot.

"Oh, are these rattles?" you asked, hearing them as you moved them.

"Yeah, aren't they cute?"

"So cute," you agreed, standing up to look in your bag, "it'll go so perfect with his going home outfit, the one Tyler got for him."

You showed her the black and white labrador retriever printed leggings and hat, and then stood behind her, looking over at Bentley, who was still sleeping soundly and looked very comfortable in her arms.  

"Do you know when you'll get to go home?"

"I think tomorrow, they said, as long as him and I are still okay," you said, reaching over and lifting Bentley's little hat up, just a bit.  "He's got a lot of hair."

"He does, yeah," she said.

"I need to get my mom to bring me some mittens for him, too, his nails were long so he keeps scratching his face," you said, running the top of your finger over his cheek. "His toes are really long, too, he's got Tyler's toes."

You unfurled the blanket out from under him until you got one foot free, and Jackie immediately laughed.  "Yeah, those are Tyler's."

"You guys, don't make fun of our feet," Tyler whined.

"They're cute," the two of you said in unison. "On him," you added, and Tyler stuck his tongue out at you.

"There's one more thing in there for him, Y/N," she said nodding towards the gift bag once more. She had an interesting look on her face, like she was trying hard to hold back a smile, and you could tell just how keen she was for you to open it.

"Guess how long he was, Mom?" Tyler asked.

"How long?"

"19 inches," Tyler said, raising his eyebrows, "He knew he was 19 inches long, so that's why he decided he had to come out, even though it would have been cool for him to be born on the nineteenth."

You barked out a laugh, coming back to sit down on the side of the bed.

"He was 9 pounds, 1 ounce, too," Tyler added.

"He was not 9 pounds!"

"Shhhh..."

You shook your head, reaching into the bag to grab the last item, pulling out a brown stuffed dog, which looked so cuddly and wrinkly, and loved.

"That was Tyler's," Jackie said. "I got it cleaned and fixed up a little bit."

"Oh," you said, pulling it to your chest, tears already starting to come to your eyes.  "You're sure you want him to have it?"

"Yeah, of course, honey."

"But what about.....?"

What about if Tyler had more children?

Jackie just shook her head, "That's for him."

Your hand, which had been at your chest went to your face as your face broke. "That's so special.  Thank you."

"Okay, don't cry on it," Tyler said, taking it away from you, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you towards his mom, enveloping you both in a hug, and you laughed a little, sniffing at the same time, Tyler's hand rubbing up and down your back, even after you broke away from the hug.  "See? Now he can sleep with this instead of Cash's goose.  And you can tell him it used to be his Uncle Ty-Ty's "

"Goose?" You asked, "It's a duck."

Tyler pulled away from you, laughing.  "It's a goose, are you crazy? I bought it, it said it was a goose."

"Well, they lied because it's clearly a duck," you laughed

"Well, you're wrong."

"I said it was a duck yesterday and you didn't correct me."

"Because you were in labour, I was trying to be nice," he said, "also, you were a little out of it, so I thought you just said the wrong word by mistake. But clearly not."

"Okay, if you think that's a goose..."

"Okay, Mom," Tyler said, picking up the offending toy.  "What is this?"

And you could see her eyes flicking back and forth.  "I don't know, Tyler."

"You're supposed to take my side."

"So you do know you're wrong," you quipped, to which Tyler looked dismayed.

"I'll take your side, and then Bentley will take her side," she said, to which Tyler laughed.

True to her promise, she left not soon after that, and you watched T.V. for a little longer and tried to get some rest while Bentley was still sleeping, and then Tyler had to leave to go for a team dinner, while your mom brought you dinner. She'd offered to go home and grab some stuff for the night to stay with you, and you'd taken her up on the offer, realizing you'd feel better having someone with you.  It wasn't soon after she left, however, that Tyler came walking back in.

"Hey," you said, "you can't stay for very long, visitor hours are almost over."

"Can't I just stay here?"

"Well, my mom was going to."

"So you don't want me to?" Tyler asked, coming over to take a chocolate from the box you had open now on the table, next to the flowers your aunt had sent you.

"No, I didn't say that," you said, "but don't you have a game tomorrow?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, we're not gonna get any sleep."

"Yeah, I know, I can take a nap before the game, it's fine," Tyler said, "And you know I was planning to spend tonight at you house with you, anyways,but  you're not there, so the hospital it is."

"You're sure though?" You asked, "I'm not going to be upset if you leave, you've already been here most of the day."

"I'm sure," Tyler said,"if you make me leave, then I'm going to be sad.  And you know I can't play hockey when I'm sad."

"Okay," you laughed.

"Your mom can still come though."

"No, I think," you started, "I think I'll  see if she just wants to stay home. She's not really going to be getting much sleep while she's staying with me.  She should rest while she can."

Thankfully, you called your mom and she agreed with this plan, while Tyler set up Grey's Anatomy on the T.V., and then he started trying to crawl into bed with you.

"Tyler," you laughed, "I don't think you're supposed to be in here with me."

"Five minutes," he said.

"There's not enough room."

"Sure there is."

"Tyler, I have stitches, be careful."

Now he grimaced, getting up and going over to the recliner chair, pushing it closer to the side of your bed, so your heads would be mostly right by each other, Bentley in his bassinet closer to the middle of the bed, and Tyler's legs would be on the other side once he reclined the chair into a bed. And then he extended his hand out, resting his arm on your leg, "I guess we'll just have to cuddle like this then."

And so you did,, usually holding either Tyler's hand or Bentley, except for when you had to grab another chocolate.

And it felt really nice. And cozy, especially when you could see a little snow falling, illuminated by the street light, and Tyler made you hot chocolate to sip on as you watched your show together.

Just the three of you.

[hangonimevolving]

Attempting some gratitude, for once.

I need to post this, before the thought and the mood from which it’s sprung both dissipate into thin air.

I suck at gratitude, on the whole. Seriously, I do, and I know I need to work on that. I’ll spare everyone my sob stories, explanations, justifications, etc. for why I have had a hard time with gratitude in recent years, but suffice to say - I am aware that I suck at it, and I heard somewhere that the first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one.... so fine. I admit it. I’m ungrateful and unappreciative in my life most days.

But today, I’ve had multiple - MULTIPLE - moments of just feeling this weird, inexplicable, warm and fuzzy, happy, sigh-inducing THING just bubble up in me. And I was like WTF is this feeling?! Why is my tummy all glittery and light? Why am I sitting here on the sofa smiling for no damn reason?! OHHHHH! Wait! Is this.....gratitude?! HOLY SHIT, I think it is! So I’m gonna write it down and note it for all posterity. I, Evolver, have felt gratitude on this 7th day of September, 2018.

It all started last Saturday night, where, right in the middle of Labor Day weekend and my sister Rithers’ visit to our hike in Miami along with her hubby, Uncle K, and her kids H20 and NiNi, our 5.5-year old Vevvy fell ill. We thought that perhaps he was just overly exhausted from a long and happy day in the pool when he felt warm to the touch on Saturday night, but mid-day Sunday, during a beach excursion - Vev’s FAVORITE thing in the world, he completely fell apart, acting listless, fatigued, and not having fun at all. One look at him, standing statuesque on the beach, staring out to sea longingly while tears rolled down his cheeks, said it all: “what is going on?! I’m so confused, mommy! I’m in my favorite place in the world, and yet I feel so miserable! What is happening to me?!” A hand on his forehead revealed that he was burning up. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dr. Spouse loaded him up in the car and headed for home, while I remained at the beach with Dey to host Rithers and co. a while longer. Poor Vev needed a shower, some kiddie Tylenol, and bed rest, stat.

the “I am siiiiick” face :(

Over the next seven - SEVEN! - days, Vev would continue to have relentless fevers or 101-103F even with continuous children’s Tylenol and Motrin. He also developed monster congestion in his sinuses and nose, headaches, body ache, and general fatigue. I was sincerely shocked and more than a little intimidated by his congestion snot (keeping it real), which was so thick and oppressive, it would choke his throat and inhibit his from breathing if he dared to rest in even a semi-reclining position. 

The poor kid had no choice but to be completely upright if he didn’t want to gag on his own phlegm, which meant that he (and by transitive property, I) could really sleep no more than 90 minutes at a stretch for four nights straight. He was miserable, and I was doing everything I could to help him, staying with him each night either on an air mattress in my bedroom, or just holding him against my shoulder/chest in my bed while he desperately tried to sleep and breathe at the same time. I felt awful for him, and mused for a moment about parents whose children have respiratory disorders like CF who live their lives this way.... good health is such a blessing that we all take for granted.

As much as I hated every minute of Vev’s suffering, there was something a bit nostalgic in holding him sleeping in my arms for several consecutive nights. Wasn’t there a time in the not-so-distant past where this was the ONLY way he’d sleep?! I bitch and moan all the time about how clingy, dependent, and non-self reliant my kids are — but it has been years since Vev needed me at night this way. My Vevvy has grown up a lot.

And to his credit, despite all this sicky misery, he was really a trooper while ill. Against his traditional character, when sick or not, he really didn’t complain much - just went quiet and kept to himself for days, forming a little nest on the sofa each day with a warm blankie, big box of Kleenex, and his iPad, not really asking for much at all except quiet and rest. He never really complained when I had to give him medication, and he did his best to heed my urges to drink clear fluids even when I could tell he really didn’t want to. And - forgive the TMI here - but you know your kid is really growing up when they begin to have some way of forewarning you and/or running to the bathroom on their own steam and hitting the preferred target of the toilet when they’ve gotta vomit. Fortunately, Vev only puked twice this week, and I suspect that too was only bc he gagged on his own copious snot — but both times, he announced “throwwww uuuup!” to me before sprinting to the loo and handling affairs with no mess and accurate aim. HALLELUJAH! This should be considered a major developmental milestone!!! (And yes - poor, poor kid! I really am glad it was only the twice, because that must have sucked a lot for him!)

Yeah, so.  He’s growing up.  Way to go, buddy!!!... and, sniff.

(supposedly this says “Mommy I love you ”...  but he always starts writing at the bottom of a page and works his way up.  He may also be of the mind that “Mommy” is spelled “mom-E.”  Yes, we’re gonna work on it)

It was only yesterday, Thursday, that we got an official pediatrician diagnosis of his illness: the flu, as in the legit flu virus, or Influenza A. The word came too late for antiviral medications to be of any great use to him, unfortunately, but I was grateful anyway that we got a halfway-decent pediatrician BRILLIANT nurse practitioner who needed my assertive request demand for a prophylactic prescription or Tamiflu for Dey. We’ve had shitty luck in South Florida with pediatricians who appear to be reactionary and unnecessarily nonsensical in their responses to my requests for help - but this time, our pedi NP was A+. She treated our family like competent, educated people and did things that made sense as far as ensuring this highly-contagious virus wouldn’t spread to another healthy child living in the same household. I wish she could be our regular PCP (but of course, I bet she can’t be, bc she’s not a doctor. Grr, fucking managed care. Oops, hold it - I’m supposed to be channeling gratitude here, not my customary bitchiness. My bad.)

Anyway, speaking of Dey, I’ve got to brag about him a bit here too. At 3.5 years old, Dey’s baseline is definitely chill, go-with-the-flow, glass-half-full, and a pleasant, happy and easygoing “whatever you want, dude!”-ness that Vev NEVER was at that age. It’s been really awesome to see. But this week, his general outlook on life, combined with impressive moments of being a team player, cooperating, helping out, and exhibiting formidable empathy really made me sooo proud.

It’s certainly understandable that he’d be potentially jealous that his older brother got to skip an entire week of school while he still had to go. It would be even more understandable since they are actual CLASSMATES at school this year (yes, our Montessori school groups ages 4-6/preschool, pre-K and kindergarten in one classroom, so they’ve been together at school and at home since the start of the academic year). So I was very impressed when Dey accepted his brother’s illness and his need to stay home from school, while he was forced to go. Without one word of complaint, he’d get up each morning, eat his breakfast, get washed up and dressed out in uniform, gather his things, then visit Vev quickly and dispense a goodbye hug and a “hope you feel better, Vev!” before loading up in the car for school drop-off. What a trooper. At afternoon pick-up, when I’d ask about his day at school, he’d say with a little frown, “oh, school was okay...but Vev wasn’t on the playground.” It was kinda weird feeling my heart simultaneously break a little, but also burst with pride at how much he loves his brother. Sweet kiddo. 

At home, each afternoon he’d run excitedly to Vev to see how he was doing, his face full of hopeful anticipation that perhaps today, Vev was feeling better and could play with him... but when he’d find Vev too miserable and tired to play, his face would momentarily fall in disappointment, but then he would muster some compassion and understanding, silently shuffle away, and find a quiet game to do in the vicinity, just so he could be nearby without disturbing Vev. Or, cuter still, he’d snuggle down on the opposite side of the couch as Vev, and tune his iPad into the same YouTube video Vev would be watching, so they could give each other silly smiles and glances during the funny parts. The boy would periodically race off in the house to find his toy doctor kit, and would affix his little plastic stethoscope to his ears so he could “give Vev a checkup” and “make him feel better.” 

(Dr. Cutie Pie is in)

It was adorable, man. His whole world spins because of his brother. It’s so touching. I don’t know how it is that I managed to have two kids who love each other so much, because karmically I’ve done NOTHING to earn this. My sister and I were rotten to each other as kids, and only really turned a corner on it in our... what, our late 30′s?!  Haha :)  But I’m so grateful for these two dudes. These two little people are the best of friends, and they can’t live without each other. The feels.

One more funny brag about Dey. Dr. Spouse and I often jokingly refer to him as Dory, i.e. the lovable blue fish, voiced by Ellen DeGeneres from the Disney movie “Finding Nemo.” Dory’s schtick is that she’s easily distracted and has short-term memory. 

Fittingly, Dory is one of Dey’s favorite cartoon characters, and he’s not shy to let the world know....

Anyway. Remember that whole prophylactic script for Tamiflu? Mind you, I was so grateful to get it. But. Ummmm, pediatric Tamiflu tastes FOUL. It is seriously the most bitter, disgusting, viscous goo I’ve ever gingerly licked to mentally prepare myself for my kid’s reaction to. I began fearing Dey’s reaction, and the ensuing tantrums to come over the five-day course of the drug. But I spoke matter-of-fairly to Dey about how this was a medicine he’d need to take to keep himself healthy, and that it would be a little bit yucky, but that I’d give him a HUGE spoonful of sugar right after to make it taste better (and THANK YOU, blessed Mary Poppins, for your genius). 

 Luckily, little Dory just took my words at face value without any further thought, opened his mouth, and downed the nasty shot of devil’s semen Tamiflu that I dispensed into his mouth. Immediately his face went every shade of red, purple, and white, with a coordinating expression like “what the hell is this shit?!” — but I swooped in there prepared, like a crack-smoking Mother of Batman, giving him a swig of water then heaping a MASSIVE spoon of white sugar directly onto his tongue. The result was nothing short of magical - the kid instantaneously closed his eyes in pleasure, turned up his cute little round cheeks to the ceiling with a huge smile on his face, and loudly cooed “Mmmm!” as if it was the best damn thing he’d ever eaten in his life. Moments later, the sugar fully dissolved, Dey matter-of-fairly reminisced with a RainMan-esque tone, “hey mommy, that medicine was kind of yucky for me. Kind of salty. Kind of spicy. But the SUGAR WAS YUUUUUUMMMMMY!” I worried that at the next dosing (and man, the kid’s gotta take it morning and night, poor little dude) he’d run screaming from the salty spicy medicine, and wouldn’t fall for the sugar trick — but amazingly, when I announced “medicine and sugar time,” the child came RUNNING to me with a huge grin on his face like he’d just won the lottery. He gulped down the medicine like a champ, swigged the water himself, then began changing “Su-gar! Su-gar! Su-gar!” till I ladled a bit into his mouth.  Naturally, my mind spun forward a bit, concerned that his ease of overcoming the Yucky Taste Barrier and downing this stuff for a cheap reward might translate into some unsavory teenage and young adult behaviors (err, tequila shot champion in the making?!  Please god, help us).  But, for now - eternally grateful for my little Dory’s easy distractability and forgiving memory!!! Vev, at that age and even now, would have NEVER gone along with this!

(is it just me, or do they even kinda sorta look alike, Dory and Dey?  No one else sees it?!  No one?!!!  Hmm...)

Anyway. In conclusion, it’s not normal for me to have something kind of bad happen, like the flu hitting one of my kids, but finding some good in the mess. But here I am, in spite of myself, awash in all the warm fuzzies.

1. I’ve got two healthy, happy kids, when many people have children with serious health issues and have to live their lives watching their kids sick and miserable all the time

2. my kids are growing up, becoming wonderfully independent, self-reliant, empathetic and helpful. But they still sometimes need me, and that’s nice too.

3. They both have such fun, distinct personalities.

4. I admit that it’s pretty awesome that my second kid is so chill. Love them both to bits, but if kid #2 has been more ornery and neurotic, I think that would have sucked. Having a chill kid #2 is a godsend.

5.  They frigging LOVE EACH OTHER.  It’s a goddamn brotherly love fest up in here.  

6.  Last but not least - the flu sucks, but it isn’t forever, and life will go on.  Soon, in fact.  And we’ll be onto the next adventure together.  Look forward to seeing what it’ll be!

[equalstrashflavoredtrash]

❄️❄️Snow day drabbles! ❄️❄️

Requested by @romanchronicles  with the prompt

13 This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home and Hvitserk

ok so i started having fun and got carried away so i guess this isnt a drabble...

warning for dry humping with soggy ends

word count: 1,776

FIngering the gold coin, the young shieldmaiden studied the embossed depiction of the now deceased saxon king. Ælle was dead, blood eagled in the grove by the sons of Ragnar, and so now they and the Great Army were celebrating. The northmen then pillaged Ælle’s villa, taking whatever they pleased, especially anything shiny and gold. Easily manipulating the round metal disc in her hand, she balanced it along her bent index finger, tucking her thumb underneath. With a simple flick she released the tension in her hand, launching the coin through the air.

The light caught the rough lip, glinting as it spun over itself, tumbling towards it’s target. With a simple ‘plop’ the coin landed directly on point, into the bucket of saxon wine sat in the center of the table. A cheer went up from the small crowd around her as she turned to face her opponent. The Shieldmaiden didn't need to say anything as she stood with her arms akimbo, the obvious victor. “Who’s next?” she called, laughing gaily while collecting the wagered spoils and watching the defeated Viking slump away, downtrodden at his loss.

“I’ll go,” a voice spoke, coming from another who nudged his way forward through the forest of shoulders, “But I have a different bet.” The green eyes of the middle Ragnarsson gleamed with mischief as he made an entrance and stared down the undefeated champion. He needed no introduction, everyone present knew who the young prince was.

“Careful, Hvitserk, she’s yet to miss once tonight,” an older, bearded fellow warned him, but the young man’s smirk didn’t falter.

“Well then, what’s your ante? What treasures are you willing to part with?” The Shieldmaiden challenge, eyeing him.

“No treasures,” he spoke with a smug expression, trusting the luck that had been with him to not falter in battle or drinking games. “Best of three. If you win then I will be your thrall for the night, answering you beck and call, catering to your every whim.”

Her brows shot up at the proposition, her interested piqued. “And if you win?” she prompted, folding her arms—obviously wary of what he would counter with.

“If I win, you must spend the entirety of the feast,”  he paused for dramatic effect while she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, jutting one hip out to the side, “Sitting on my lap.” A chuckle broke through the crowd at his terms, none of those watching surprised by Hvitserk’s antics.

She took a moment to weigh her options, certain he would not make such a bet if he didn’t have a plan to win. Still, if she backed down she would be shamed, and quite the number of spectators had gathered to witness the prince and her square off.

“Fine.” She quickly spat into her hand before holding it out to him. Hvitserk copied the gesture before clapping his palm with hers as they shook.

He went first, carelessly tossing the gold into the air. If this was extent of his method she was sure to beat him. It should’ve landed just short of the goal, but miraculous the gold hit the lip of the bucket, changing the trajectory so it dropped into the wine.

With a grumble she gathered the small pile of saxon gold infront of her—all spoils from earlier challenges—and readied her first shot. Carefully lining up the foreign coin, she tried to ignore the audience pressing closer behind her, each vying for a better view, along with the way Hvitserk stood next to her, near enough she could feel his body heat. She exhaled through her nose and flicked the coin into the air. It was not her best shot—she should’ve arched it higher—but still it fell in the bucket.

She turned to him, quirking the corner of her mouth up and challenging him with her eyes. In a lackadaisical gesture, the prince drew another coin before giving a careless wave of his hand, all while keeping his eyes on her. They both knew it made it by the sound. She could barely believe it though she could easily see the ripples on the surface circling outwards. There was a flurry of hushed excitement through the crowd around them—some even making their own bets on the outcome—as she pivoted away from Hvitserk.

Determination set over her as she went for her second try. Her skill had to outweigh his luck, she knew what she was doing. Again her coin flew over the wooden rim of the bucket and landed with ease.

They were tied. Their spectators waited with baited breath, eager to know who would be the victor. Hvitserk actually appeared to make an attempt for the last round. The coin went in all the same, just as easily as it had before..

It was her final chance. If she missed this then he’d win and she’d be obligated to warm his lap for the evening. The space around her felt suffocating now, caused by both the eager onlookers crowding in and her opponent who stood so close now she could feel his breath ghosting over the skin of her cheek. She did her best to block out the distractions and ready her aim, but just as she released her thumb, she felt a sharp pain in her left but cheek. Jerking in surprise, she sent the coin flying in the wrong direction, yards away from the bucket of wine.

“You fucking—!” the Shieldmaiden roared as she spun on her heel to slap the prince. He reacted on instinct, easily catching her wrists before her palms could make contact as he laughed with the men surrounding them. “You cheated! You pinched my ass!” she screamed at him over the noise while struggling to free her arms.

“Still, you missed.” Hvisterk grinned, the majority of those around the pair seemed to agree. He eventually released her hands, and she glared at him through her lashes.

“Fine. I will see you at the feast,” she spat before collecting her winnings and storming off.

——-

From the moment she entered the grand hall, she could feel his eyes on her like a magnet. It was obvious she would had no respite from him in the foreseeable future. Dropping her gaze to the stone floor, she trudged past the never ending long tables before arriving at the head table.

The oak table lined with Ragnar’s sons was situated where Ælle’s throne had been, the floor slightly raised above the rest of the landing. In the center, facing the hall was Bjorn—the oldest. At the end furthest from where she sat was Ivar, with Ubbe to his left. To Bjorn’s right sat Sigurd, who seemed preoccupied with his instrument as his fingers spent more time on the strings than his food. Finally, directly in front of where she stood, at the foot of the tabe was the middle prince. Hvitserk couldn’t control his grin as he held a hand out for her to take.

The Shieldmaiden was positive everyone in the hall knew about their wager by now and were watching to see what would happen. Reluctantly she accepted his hand, and lowered herself to rest just on his knees, as far down on his lap she could get. She propped her chin upon her palm, resting her elbow on the table and facing Sigurd.

She sipped at her endless cup of ale—any time she was close to the bottom a thrall was quick to replenish—as she spent most of the night talking and singing with her seat’s younger brother. Though Hvitserk tried to keep her attention with teasing touches, or letting his fingers drift north under her tunic. Still, she did her best to ignore him, mindlessly swatting away his wandering hands like flies.

The more she drank the more she eased into Hvitserk. Shifting slightly in his lap every now and then, slowly inching away from the table, closer towards his chest.

The Shieldmaiden was feeling the weight of the ale in her eyelids by the time Floki was commanding the attention of the room. The boat builder stood at the fire, his gangly anatomy appearing all the more skeleton with the harsh illumination of the flames.

In the dimly lit corner of the room she settled into her seat, reclining to rest her head on Hvitserk’s shoulder while adjusting her hips against his.

The Prince was quick to grab hold of her waist, halting her motions and hissing a warning in her ear, “Careful with that.”

“Oh?” she teased, her voice registering in a lower, drunken timber. Lifting her chin she let her lips tickle his ear while her words dance over his skin as she nuzzled into his neck. Tempting her luck, she raised one arm to lace her fingers into the roots of his braids. Curling her hand she pulled at his hair, and pushed her hips back, letting out an airy gasp when she felt the breadth of his erection against her ass through the leather.

“Fuck,” he hissed, quiet enough so only she could hear while his hands snaked their way under her tunic. Every set of eyes in the room—even those of Sigurd next to them—where trained forwards the storyteller, paying no mind to the way she rutted against Hvitserk in his chair. One of his hands finally found its way under her tunic to her breast, palming at the soft and malleable tissue as his finger tips teased her nipple. She continued to shift, rubbing her bottom against him while his other hand dug into the flesh on her hips hard enough he was sure to leave a bruise.

She could feel Hvitserk panting against her neck as she let her head lull back onto his shoulder, giving him leeway to guide her hips as he wished. Muffling his groan in her skin, he bit at her shoulder. The Shieldmaiden could tell from the way he shuddered against her he had reached his climax.

Staying still for a moment, the pair basked in the rhythmic pattern of each other’s deep breathing. After a moment she managed to gather her strength, sitting upright to stretch her arms. “It’s so late, I should get going,” she announced innocuously to the table, moving to rise.

None of the other brothers seemed to notice—or care—when Hvitserk yanked the girl back into his lap trapping her so he could hiss in her ear, “The only place you're going is to my bed.”

hope you liked it 😀 @ariwolff14 @beautifulramblingbrains @mandalorian-slut@captstefanbrandt @titty-teetee  @whenimaunicorn @sweetvengeancee @ivarinleatherpants

[artisticvicu]

Altruistic Endeavors | Inktober 2020 - Day 25: Buddy

“By an Olnvorox?” Elias clarified.

“Buddy, you can’t be serious,” Cass cut in, her words wavering with the fear she was trying to hide. “How would an Olnvorox even get in here?”

“Does it matter?” he challenged, frustration blending with the echoes of emotions from whatever it was he lived through. He suddenly became aware of the headache that was pounding inside his skull. He closed his eyes against the pain, putting the weight of his head back into Elias’s palms. The man’s hands flexed against his neck and skull but took his weight with apparent ease. “It got in and it got its hands on me.” He opened his eyes only to meet his uncle’s gaze. “It toyed with me, killing everyone I knew and have come to know with such ease that it’s terrifying. The power these things have is terrifying. If an Olnvorox ever decided to actually take us out, this entire compound would be eradicated in a matter of minutes.”  His breath shuddered in his chest but he couldn’t stop now. “The thing took everyone out, took people out by shattering their companion’s cores-” Elias flinched around him- “and all I could do was watch. Watch until…” He frowned. Strange. He couldn’t really remember what had actually changed. “Something happened. I can’t really remember what had changed but something did and I did something. The Olnvorox exploded.”

Dlmor shifted against his chest. “Exploded?”

He flinched from the pain but didn’t comment on it. He could live with the pain. “Yeah. It didn’t do the thing it had done when Trevak had bit it in half. It actually exploded, turned into dust or something and disintegrated.”

“So...does that mean it’s actually dead?”

The desire to say yes had him opening his mouth but his thoughts caught up with the action and he changed the words. “I don’t know. I’d be surprised if taking it out in the…the dream was enough.”

“But it’s not currently around?”

“No. Whatever Olnvorox attacked me - be it the one that Trevak had taken out or a new one - it didn’t stick around.”

Elias shifted above him. “Which means we don’t know how many we’re up against still.”

His uncle’s gaze wasn’t on him but he smiled weakly at that. “Unfortunately.”

“So what now, then?” Cass brought forward, her words tight even as her voice sounded tired.

“We could always go through with the initial plan,” Tolnoran suggested. “Get me and Elias out on the field if for nothing more than the incoming cluster.”

Elias’s gaze settled back on his face. “We’ll get you in a room and situated before we leave.”

He shook his head very carefully. “No. If there’s another one around and it decides to do anything, I’ll be weak against it. I have a headache that’s already trying to kill me and if one gets to me now, I doubt I’ll come out of it alive.”

Elias muttered a curse before looking towards where he assumed Cass was still located. “Can you find us a healer? We can’t wait anymore.”

“Sure. But you’ve got to get Trevak to move out of the way.”

He tightened his fist in Elias’s shirt, speaking up in his uncle’s stead. “Trevak. Ysle. Chief. I’m ok. You don’t have to protect me anymore.”

There had been a tension in the air he hadn’t noticed until it subsided after his words. What of Trevak’s form he could see started to move and shrink, the wing still stretched over their heads tucking close to the serpent’s body as it shrank rapidly. He heard other movement but the headache flared and he found his eyes closed against the pain.

He opened his eyes in time to see Cass’s outrage and disbelief as the Jaun that reminded him of a golden retriever sauntered up to her side, sat like a dog, and looking up at her, waiting. She masked most of it, leaving a confused and concerned expression on her face as she looked to Elias. The man shrugged over him. “We don’t even know what really happened, Cass. We barely know anything about the Olnvorox, let alone anything about any species from the Second Plane. At this point, it’s probably wise to just go with what is happening and ask questions about it later.

Cass looked down at the golden Jaun. “Right.” There was a pause as she stared at the patient creature. After a moment, she blinked and started in some direction. “Come on, Chief. Help me find a healer.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Eli?” Tolnoran inquired, coming closer.

“Dlmor, support him for me,” Elias directed instead of answering.

Dlmor moved off his torso, getting up onto four paws. The creature slipped under his shoulders and neck, the fur brushing against his bare neck when Elias withdrew his hands left his neck. He softly requested, “Dlmor, can you sit me up, please?”

“It doesn’t matter if this is a good idea or not,” Elias finally answered, facing Tolnoran. The larger man reached out to hold onto one of Elias’s hands, thumb rubbing the back of it. Elias’s hand gripped tightly around Tolnoran’s fingers. “Artemis cannot stay unprotected and, unfortunately, I don’t trust anyone else here.”

Dlmor got him sitting though he was still reclined. The creature was warm underneath him and he pressed his face into the soft fur at its neck, blocking out the light for a short while. He wasn’t sure if it made a difference but the warm fur against his face felt nice. Dlmor certainly smelt good even after everything. 

“Artemis!” echoed in the hallway and he slowly pulled his face from Dlmor’s fur feeling more exhausted and not understanding why.

Dlmor informed him through Transference that he had started to doze as Elias and Tolnoran spoke together.

He caught sight of Elias leaning sideways into Tolnoran’s chest, the larger man’s arms slipping from around the other. Elias stood. Tolnoran helped him up before following after. Ysle pressed against the back of Tolnoran’s legs as Elias faced the person who had shouted for him. If he wasn’t mistaken, it had been…

“Bethany,” Elias spoke up as the sound of running feet became clear before slowing. “And the Walker that had fought alongside Artemis.”

Lora’s voice was crisp but polite, offering only, “Lora,” as Bethany came to a stop at Artemis’s knees.

“Elias,” the man offered in turn.

She leaned forward, hands burying themselves in his hair before running down his neck, shoulders, down his arms to squeeze at his hands. “Artemis, are you alright? We heard a commotion. Lora’s Ruhn went nuts to the point that it lost its mimic.”

What she said only made half sense. “What?”

A small creature looking deceptively like the Ilnu came scrambling over. It flung itself onto his left shin, hugging it tight before turning its large, yellow eyes on him.

Dlmor pushed the information towards him, though it skittered pain across his temples despite the care. Ruhn - which was somehow pronounced “rune” - were creatures that had the ability to mimic other creatures. He also received Dlmor’s memories of the interaction with Lora just before his uncle had shown up and took note of what Dlmor had noticed of the Belvren that had been standing behind Lora and the few details that gave the Ruhn away. Lora’s Ruhn was well versed in mimicry, though it was Dlmor’s impression that it was only with the Belvren form that this was accurate.

The thing that mattered to him was that Ruhn and Ilnu were indeed similar creatures. The difference was that Ruhn were generally smaller and were the only ones between the two types to have the mimic ability. Additionally, Ruhn were known to be far more wary when it came to following anyone’s orders compared to the mischievous Ilnu.

He was immensely grateful for Dlmor’s Transference ability. It made things so much easier to just know things instead of having to have someone explain it. “So this is Belvren, then?”

Bethany had been in the middle of wrangling the Ruhn off his leg when his words registered. She looked at him, eyes narrowing. The little Ruhn squirmed out of her hold and collided with his side. It didn’t have much force behind it but he still gave a soft, “Oof,” as he instinctively wrapped an arm around it. Dlmor pressed against his back to keep him mostly upright. The Ruhn buried its face into his chest, little hands clinging to his shirt. His sister gave him a narrowed look. “So you’ve met her Shadow, then.”

“Only once and I wasn’t able to actually see it at the time.” He looked down to the Ruhn gaining its large, yellow gaze. He offered it a soft smile as he rubbed the top of its head. “Thank you for coming and checking on me. Can you return to your Belvren mimic and go back to Lora for me?”

The Ruhn nodded and scrambled away, taking on the Belvren form he had briefly seen in the Olnvorox induced dream. They both watched it run off before Bethany spoke up. “I have never seen it not follow Lora’s commands before,” she offered, voice holding an odd distant sound to it. “I don’t think Lora’s ever experienced it either, though I’m not sure if she knew it was a Ruhn or not.”

He looked to her, curiosity and confusion pulling at his expression. “Wouldn’t she know?”

Bethany shrugged. “I think it would solely depend on what she had been taught and if her Ruhn never dropped its mimic, unless someone told her, I don’t think she would have known.”

“Could it be more she was trying to hide the truth?” Dlmor interjected.

He winced from the pain but his sister missed the reaction, much to his relief.

Bethany dismissed the suggestion. “I don’t know why you would hide something like that.”

“Ruhn are not a common creature to be bound to a Walker,” Dlmor pointed out.

Bethany frowned at the creature. “What do you mean?”

Dlmor gave her a flat look. “Do you even know what a Ruhn is?”

Bethany scoffed. “Of course.”

“Oh really?” A grin stretched across Dlmor’s face. “Tell me: why have the Ruhn counts gone down since the Dawning?”

“Enough,” Tolnoran directed gently, hand wrapping around Dlmor’s snout. The man sent the creature a disappointed frown. “Do not drill her, Dlmor, or there will be repercussions.”

Dlmor yanked its snout from Elias’s hand, snapping in turn, “Oh please. Like there’s anything you can do to me that will get me to stop.” Tolnoran’s Kret hissed, though it sounded more like air escaping a hose than a hiss to him. He missed the words if there had been any. It didn’t stop Dlmor from adding, “Want to try me, Kret? It’s been a long time since I’ve been up against one of you. I hear your Core can be quite decedent.”

“Dlmor,” he warned. It ducked its head immediately, looking at him as its long ears went back and pressed flat against its neck. “Enough. We’re all on edge. No need on making matters worse.” He ran his hand over the creature’s head, exhaustion making the limb heavy. “Besides, I would appreciate it if Torra actually survived all of this. Taking his Kret out is counterintuitive to that.”

“Of course,” Dlmor ceded.

The creature’s response rubbed him wrong but the headache wasn’t letting him handle more than one thought process at a time. He looked to Ylse. “Protect Tolnoran to the best of your ability. That means keeping yourself whole to the best of your abilities. Alright?”

The large, slightly stretched komodo dragon bowed its head from where it stood against the back of Tolnoran’s legs. A worried look crossed the man’s face as Tolnoran reached down and stroked down the Kret’s back. “It might be wise if you didn’t do that in front of others.”

The confusion that flittered through him was brief. He rubbed at his head. “I apologize. I’m doing it without realizing I have an ounce of power over any of them.” His hand fell back into his lap, heavy. His head was heavier but he managed to lean it back enough to meet Tolnoran’s gaze. “I’ll do what I can to keep the…commanding to a minimum.”

[mortyandcarlsbespokesalvage]

Day 1 Sequence 3

It was the pain that woke Raven. Absent the adrenaline and endorphins generated by life threatening danger, his body had been given time to realize the extent of the beating it had recently taken. His muscles hurt and his arms felt like lead. He could still feel the soreness in his chest from where the Walker Engineer had shoved him. And all that was compounded by untold bruises that he must have sustained when the water carried him away down the drain. He became aware that he was lying down, and tried to sit up, but his body declined to obey. 

He tried to take stock of his surroundings. He was dry, at least. That was good. He seemed to be lying on a musty couch in front of a hot electric radiator. He was still in his armor, but his helmet, chest plate, and air tank had been removed. Raven turned his head and spotted them all resting on a chair next to him. For a hot second, he considered putting them on. Almost as soon as the thought formed, his nerves flared fiercely with pain. The armor would make him safer, but his body simply couldn’t take it now. He’d have to go without for the moment. It would probably be fine, he rationalized. If there were any real danger, whoever took his gear off probably wouldn’t have left it within easy reach.

He took inventory. Raven’s body was a mass of aches and pains, but as far as he could tell, nothing was broken. Slowly, he eased himself upright and checked his gear. Even above ground, his radio spat nothing more than static. Optimism still made him want to blame storm interference, but logically, he could admit it was almost definitely broken. His air tank was nearly depleted, he assessed grimly, and his helmet was cracked in at least two places with the largest running across the visor. Considering, it was surprising it was still in one piece. Raven couldn’t begin to tell which close call was responsible for that. Could it be repaired? He felt a pang at the thought of losing a piece of his father’s armor.

The rest of it - the chest plate, wrist and shin guards, etc - were all dented to hell and back. But he was relieved to see that it was nothing that couldn’t be buffed out when he got back to the barracks. He was less optimistic about his right shoulderguard, crumpled where the Walker had grabbed him at the vault door. Still. Let Cortez laugh about his armor now!

Cortez… he hoped the crusty old sweeper would be okay.

Altogether, everything was accounted for, except for his axe. A hot flood of panic and grief swept through Raven at the thought of having lost it. It was like losing his father again in miniature. He was alive, though. His dad always focused on the good, and Raven followed that example as best he could. He was alive, his armor was mostly okay, and he would be able to tell the Sanitation Corps about everything he’d seen. He could not push away the pang of deep grief however. His father’s axe was gone.

Lacking anything else to do, Raven decided to try his luck standing, and then walking. He tested his legs and circled the apartment, examining it as he went. It was cluttered, but Raven could tell there was an order to it. What caught his eye first were the two shelves. They were made of wood, an incongruous display of wealth in such a small space. They hung over a desk covered in stacks of journals and maps, and were full of artifacts. 

Raven recognized a few of them - sextants, a record player, a small gyroscope - but there was more he didn’t know. He was curious about the journals, too, but that was a degree of snooping he was uncomfortable with. This person had saved him, after all. It wouldn’t do to be rude. 

Besides the desk, and the chairs that circled the radiator, the rest of the living area was dominated by a workbench. The items here were much more familiar to Raven, who’d spent unknowable hours in Abby’s workshop. There were a few tools Raven thought she’d happily break approximately all of the laws to get her hands on. A narrow hall led deeper into the apartment; a bedroom and bathroom, and a dark open door. A closet, Raven assumed. And attached to the living area but a step up was a modest kitchen.

Raven’s stomach gave a thunderous growl at the thought of food. It would probably be a good idea to find his mysterious benefactor now. Before he ate them out of house and home. 

There was only one obvious exit from the apartment. It led through a heavy metal door out to the brick walkway along a drainage tunnel which Raven recognized as the same one he had been pulled from. He passed through the entryway and out into the light of day. Raven’s eyes burned in the daylight. It was the first he had seen of the surface in near to 24 hours. As he looked out of the drainage tunnel he saw the expanse of the Emerald Sea spread before him, boats in the distance. It was the first time he had seen the ocean. 

It was so much bigger and more open than anything he had experienced. It had the expanse of the chasm beneath the Barrier Wall, but the sky seemed to go on forever. It was so different than the sky he was used to on the surface within the inner ring of the city, framed by the overhanging buildings and elevated crosswalks, and often broken apart by their long shadows. It took Raven’s breath away.

As he stepped blearily out onto the walkway along the seawall, drawn to the waters’ edge, he heard the unmistakable sound of music. Electro-swing unless he was mistaken (Raven preferred the sound of Big Band). It wafted from above and behind, and he came to realize that he stood upon a lower tier of the seawall. A little further down was a stairway leading to the top of the wall. More stairs, he thought bleakly, but he climbed. At the top, Raven took one more look out at the water.

It was an impressive sight, but he had things to do. Raven turned back towards the island and continued following the sound. He saw the coastal road along the seawall stretching into the distance. Across it was the high fenced edge of a massive yard, filled with towering mountains of scrap. As he followed the edge of the fence to the music’s source, he saw signs marking it as Yard 3. He was momentarily hopeful; if he could navigate through the third yard, he could find his way back to the Precinct and the barracks. 

This hope quickly faded however. Yard 3 was expansive and Raven had no idea of which of the miles of labyrinthine, junkyard paths would lead him back to the precinct. At last, he came upon the entrance to a smaller gated subdivision of the massive yard. Over the gate was a sign: 

“Morty and Carl’s Bespoke Salvage.”

“Hello?” Raven called out warily as he stepped through the gate. The music was coming from somewhere within, but there were stacks piled high on either side of the path, blocking his view of anything beyond them. There was no choice but to follow the path and hope there was a friendly face at the end. He paid careful attention to his surroundings as he ventured into the yard. Raven would be the first to admit he didn’t have an eye for the junk that made up Artisan. Even after a few years as a Trash-man, he struggled to tell scrap from artifact unless someone told him. But even he could see that the quality of the stuff here was more...complete than the usual junk heap. 

Just before a turn in the path, Raven heard voices over the music. Well, one voice and a gurgle with inflection. They seemed to be arguing.

“No, I don’t care how easy it would have been to dispose of the body.”  

“…”  

“He wasn���t dead! Listen, when you’re the one buying the groceries, you can argue about the cost of meat.”  

“...”

“Yes I do! For the past three months, which one of us has been going to market? Me, that’s who! Besides, it’s a moot point. He’s wearing Sweeper armor, ergo he is a sweeper. We do not eat Sweepers.”

“…” 

“Since always. That’s been a rule since always.”

“Um, hello?” Raven thought it was a testament to how stressful his day had been that a conversation about eating his corpse caused him only mild concern. “Hi there. Uh, I’m Raven, Raven Daniels. Is that your apartment I woke up in?”

An older man sat on a brightly colored folding chair under a large umbrella. Next to him on a folding reclining chair sat a massive, black shelled Rock Lobster. Yes. That was what it was. Just a rock lobster. It was larger than any number of street dogs he had seen in his life, but it was unmistakably a lobster. 

The older man did not answer immediately, taking a moment to look over Raven. “I was expecting that you’d come up the stairs.” He gestured a thumb over his shoulder to an open doorway in a box like office behind them. Apparently the door at the end of the dark hallway had not been a closet.

“The name’s Carlos. Carlos Desocrates. This is Morty.” A gurgle came from the crustacean and it raised a clawed arm. Seeming to wave hello. 

Carlos Desocrates was shorter than Raven at about 6’ tall, with sharp black hair that bristled out from under a red bandanna that matched his shirt. He thought he could see streaks of gray in Carlos’ hair and stubble. A sharp scar cut from the corner of his jaw up the side of his cheek. His burly arms had tattoos on his copper skin that were incomprehensible to Raven. He was muscular but with a bit of a paunch, and wore a pair of pants and matching vest that seemed to Raven to be entirely made of pockets. A sawed off shotgun and machete were holstered at his hip, which caused Raven some momentary consternation. Raven could not place his age, since he seemed grizzled in a way that was only familiar to him from knowing Chief Hobbs. Raven could not tell if it was age or mileage that he saw on the older man’s weathered face. 

“Well, um, thank you for your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t gotten me out of the, the seagate? Thing? But I’ve, um, I’ve had a very busy night and I really need to report in. I,uh, I think they might think I’m dead,” Raven said with some surprise. He hadn’t thought of that before. But the fact was his squad had last seen him trapped with a few dozen Walkers. People generally didn’t come back from that alive. He presumed at least. It had been a surprising day. “If you could just tell me how to get back to the Third Precinct, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Kid. You are about to fall over. Take a seat,” the man said, and pulled another folding chair from behind him. It was more an order than an offer, Raven realized. 

“I took the liberty of shelling you of that armor to pump the water out of your lungs. Figured I didn’t know you well enough to take off more than that. This is yours, by the way.” 

Carlos reached down and unfolded a long towel on the ground next to his chair. Raven’s heart skipped a beat as Carlos picked up the axe and held it out to him. “Seemed like a good idea to keep this out of reach in case you woke up twitchy. You already soaked my couch, and I don’t need you making any more of a mess than that.” 

Raven stared agog at the axe. His axe. His fathers’ axe. The axe he’d thought lost forever. That axe. Raven promptly burst into tears.

Carlos wore an expression half way between compassionate pity and unimpressed disapproval. From somewhere, Morty produced a handkerchief.

“... Anyway.” Carlos coughed, still holding Raven’s axe. Raven took it from him with trembling hands and clutched it close. With a few wet sniffles, he reined in the last of his tears. This had been the longest day, he thought again, and cradled the axe in his lap. 

“I’m good now,” Raven said, though his choked up voice belied how light his grip was on his emotions. Carlos made the executive decision to carry on anyway.

“As for getting back to your Precinct, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. South Gate through the wall is sealed and it ain’t gonna open up again until tomorrow morning. Pretty routine after a monster storm like what we had last night. So, you may as well relax and rest up awhile.” Carlos took a long drought from a large flask at his hip, but did not offer Raven any of whatever it contained.

“What? No.” Raven protested. “What about through the third yard? I need to get back as soon as possible.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Kid,” he said flatly. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but you are in no shape to trek through Wrecker territory.” He cocked his head to gesture to Yard 3 in the distance. “ASEC doesn’t take particular care of the outer yard, and the locals ain’t real friendly.”

“I can do it,” Raven insisted. “I have to. I saw something in the pipes, something big. ASEC needs to know about it as soon as possible!”

Carlos stood and leveled a flat, unimpressed look at the young man, then squatted low to bring himself to eye level with Raven and leaned forward. He raised a finger to Raven’s face. Raven stared for a moment cross eyed before Carlos pointed, and proceeded to poke him squarely in the middle of his forehead. Raven immediately lost his balance and toppled backwards, falling out of his chair onto the ground.

“...ow,” Raven mewled in a small, sad voice.

“...” Morty gurgled.

“Fine,” Carlos said, rolling his eyes, but relenting to his crustacean companion. “Kid, why don’t you tell us what’s going on. If it’s actually important and not ‘tHey’rE goNNa firE mE ‘CAuse i diD soMEthinG sTuPID’ important, maybe, MAYBE, we’ll see what we can do about getting a message inland.” Carlos returned to his chair. “So. Indulge us.”

Raven struggled to right himself and the chair, failed, and rolled to sit up on the ground cross legged. He looked at Carlos with watery eyes. “Do you really mean it?”

“We’ll see,” Carlos repeated firmly.

“...” Morty gurgled encouragingly.

Raven recounted the story in as much detail as he could. Finally, Carlos held up a hand and interjected: “Ok, stop. STOP. We get it. You climbed a lot of stairs.”

“But you understand now, right? I have to get back to my Precinct and tell them! If we work fast, we can catch that weird old man, and bring him to justice before anyone else gets hurt!”

Carlos looked decidedly nonplussed. “Justice, huh? 

The older man sat thoughtfully for a moment. 

“Not to snuff your flare, kiddo. But ASEC has a hurricane to clean up after. That is gonna be priority one. AND if you sealed him off in the deep shafts like you say, then I don’t imagine that they’re gonna drop everything for a manhunt, through the uncharted depths, trying to follow a tram line, that nobody knew existed until this morning, with only your word that this guy is a threat.”

“You don’t think this is important?” Raven asked, feeling inexplicably hurt.

“I think you’re gonna have a hard time convincing the people in charge that you didn’t just hit your head real hard.”

 Raven was incensed enough to climb to his feet, though he leaned on his axe to do it. “But he can command Walkers! The whole city could be in danger!”

“Kid. The whole city is always in danger. You’re a Sweeper, you oughta know this. Anyway, there’s a couple hundred more of you taking care of things inside. They can keep a handle on the city until we get lunch. C’mon” 

Raven wanted to argue more, but his stomach growled loud enough to drown out the music. The old man was right, he could save the city after lunch… Was it lunchtime? How long had he been unconscious?

They returned to Carlos’ apartment long enough for Raven to put on his armor. It was heavy, and Raven was tender, but he’d rather face exhaustion than risk losing a single piece of it through carelessness. And wearing it felt a lot lighter and less awkward than carrying it. Morty stayed behind to watch the yard and the two men took off along the seaside walkway to the heart of the Southport District.

The neighborhood reminded Raven of his own borough; the bustle of people at work, the market trading, the variety of shops, the sheer camaraderie of people greeting each other and helping one another as they made repairs to their town. It made Raven a touch homesick. Silly of him, he thought, since it hadn’t even been a full 24 hours since he was last home. 

Nevertheless, he struggled not to wave when people stared at Carlos and himself. No one knew him here. He’d just be a weirdly friendly Sweeper… above ground… outside the wall… on his way to lunch, following a trip by storm drain to the coast. Reports of that sort of behavior wouldn’t help convince his superiors he wasn’t concussed.

Carlos led him to a restaurant near the water. Above the door hung a sign with a ship’s wheel that read ‘Fortuna’s Tavern’. Raven could smell bread and meat on the air surrounding the building and he very nearly swooned.

“Don’t fall over just yet,” Carlos groused without turning, then opened the door.

The aroma intensified, and was joined by coffee and syrup and was that cinnamon he smelled? Raven nearly knocked over Carlos in his eagerness to get inside. He felt as if he could feel the stares, but his attention was on the display case next to the bar. There were pies and quiches and scones. He was going to eat them all.

“Hey there, Carl,” came a cheerful voice from behind the bar. A pretty woman with gold tanned skin, short, wiry rust colored hair, and a warm smile was wiping down the counter. “I was wondering if you were going to grace us with your presence this morning or if I’d have to send someone to your yard to get you.” 

Carlos nodded his head at the woman. “Marie,” he said by way of greeting. “Got work for me?”

“Just a few tow jobs. If you have the time. Which I know you do.” The woman, Marie, smiled winningly at Carlos. Her gold eyes seemed to flash in the light. Raven thought something was striking about them. He could not place it at first, but as he looked closer he could see that the whites of her eyes were slighter, and darker, and her too large irises were a striking, shimmering gold. Something about her sharp gaze, and her wry smile reminded him of Captain Mendoza’s obsidian glare and predatory grin full of too sharp teeth. Carlos glowered at her for a couple heart beats, but even Raven, distracted as he was by hunger, could tell the older man wouldn’t argue. “Glad that’s settled,” Marie said, though as far as Raven could tell nothing had been settled. Who needed a tow? Why did she expect Carlos to do it? Why did Carlos listen to her? Did she serve waffles?

“And who’s this strapping young man you’ve brought to my door?” She rounded on Raven with a smile that made him want to double check his weapons, even without the carnivorous sharpness of his Captain’s grin. “The name’s Marie Fortuna, hon! This is my place. What’s a nice boy like you doing with this curmudgeon?”

Raven opened his mouth to reply, but Carlos cut him off. “This is Raven. Fished him out of the storm drain this morning. He got washed out with the last of the debris from the surge. Listen, I’ve gotta make a few calls. Can you feed this kid? My tab.” He turned to exit, then doubled back to add, “Nothing fancy!”

Marie saluted his departing figure, but agreed to nothing. Raven didn’t even think to say “bye” or ask what constituted fancy until the door was closed. Then, in the sudden quiet, Raven’s stomach gave another aggravated rumble. 

“Why don’t you have a seat, kiddo?” Marie’s voice was a good deal gentler than it had been, though Raven hadn’t thought she was brusque before. He pulled up the nearest stool and sat. “Don’t worry about that grump. He’s got more credit here than he lets on. And he’ll be back as soon as he finishes his calls... If he can even make them, that is” she said in a quiet, wry aside. “Anyway, what can I get for ya?”

“... Waffles?” 

She hisses through her teeth, an apologetic sound. “No waffles, I’m afraid. The griddle broke yesterday and with the storm damage, no one has time to fix it right now. Pancakes okay?”

“Pancakes are fine,” he said, but he could hear his own disappointment. 

It wasn’t just the lack of waffles that had gotten him down, though that was the icing on his sad, fluffy but not crispy cake. With a late but welcome breakfast in reach and no clear course of action beyond it, he’d suddenly felt the weight of everything that had gone wrong. Cortez was hurt, and his gear damaged. He’d discovered that city was in danger, but his credibility was uncertain. Meanwhile, his only help was an old man with a lobster who wanted to eat him. And everyone kept calling him a kid.

“I’m not a kid,” Raven said, sulking into his chest.

“Of course you’re not,” Marie said consolingly. “Are you worried about Carlos? You shouldn’t be. He’s probably just sore about you making him get up early. Strawberry or chocolate, honey?”

“Strawberry, thanks,” said Raven. Marie placed a large glass of strawberry milk in front of him with a twisty straw. A moment later, she slid a ten-stack of fluffy banana pancakes under his nose, a whipped cream smiley face drawn on top and a couple sparklers stuck in the heaping scoop of Neapolitan ice cream on the side. “Thank you, ma’am,” Raven said and dug in. Would this be considered fancy? He tried and failed to restrain himself, then fell upon the breakfast with ravenous hunger. As he ate and drank, he felt a slight tingle, like static in the air around his food. He tasted a spark. Were the sparklers really necessary?

Marie let him eat in peace for a while. She busied herself with the other customers, brewing more coffee, and cleaning the griddle for the next order. Raven watched as she directed several young servers to handle different tables. He caught two of the young women smiling in his direction as he stuffed a forkful of pancake into his mouth, and whispering to one another. He paused and waved sheepishly. When Raven had made a sizeable dent in the pancakes, and slowed his pace enough that she could see him chew before swallowing, she came back to him and asked, “So what’s your story, hon? You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind, and as an official, certified bartender, I can assure you telling me your troubles will make them easier.”

Raven’s eyes flicked from her to his pancakes and back again, considering. At last, he swallowed and began to tell her an abridged story of the morning.

 “So, um, as you might’ve guessed, I’m a Sweeper,” he began, and gestured vaguely the armor he was wearing. “My squad was out last night, well, this morning, doing a retrieval from the pipes. There was another team down there, and an excavation crew, and- Anyway. Something happened down there. Something bad. My team went down to help, but we got caught up in it instead. I made it out. I think my team did too. I hope they did,” he said in a quiet aside. “After we got separated, I saw some stuff. Important, the-city-may-be-in-danger stuff,” he said intensely. “I’m the only one who knows about it. But I shouldn’t be. My captain needs to know. The commanders at ASEC definitely need to know. But my radio is broken and the gates are closed and I can’t get in touch with any of them!”

By that point, Raven had nearly worked himself into a frenzy, catching concerned stares from other patrons. But just as quickly he seemed to deflate before Marie’s hawk-like eyes. “I told that old guy about it, but I’m not sure if he believed me. When I said it out loud I guess it sounds unbelievable. The further away I get from it, I’m starting to think ‘maybe I did just hallucinate all that’.” Marie watched as his lower lip trembled a smidge. The smile slid off her face.

“You might be surprised what people will believe, hon. Especially around here.” She laid a hand on top of his. “And don’t you fret about Carlos. If he thought you weren’t worth listening to, he would have taken you to some other bar.” She winked and slid him another strawberry milk. Raven hadn’t even seen her make it. “Don’t let Carlos hear you calling him old though.” She said with a smirk.

Marie kept Raven company in between brewing coffees, making breakfasts, and directing her small squad of servers to attend to the stream of people who came through. Nearly all of them were sailors, or technicians, or machinists of some kind, and they all bore circles under their eyes of varying darkness. Raven wasn’t the only one who’d had a long night, it seemed.

A half hour later, Carlos returned. 

Marie handed him a stein of coffee and he sat next to Raven. “Bad news, kid. Lines to the inner ring are down. I couldn’t get through to ASEC. Storm Damage I expect.” 

Raven would not be deterred. He pushed back from the bar and stood. “Then I can’t waste time. I need to get back as soon as possible.”

Marie just shook her head and pushed down on his shoulder. “Sit and finish your pancakes, hon.” Raven looked down, surprised to see his stack was less than halfway eaten. He’d missed her sliding more onto his plate. “The City Gate isn’t gonna open until tomorrow for damage assessment. And that’s at the earliest.”

Raven looked between her and Carlos in honest surprise. “Wait,” he said. “You don’t mean to tell me they just leave all of you cut off when storms hit?” When neither of the two contradicted him, his face contorted in a grimace of appalled shock. “That’s terrible! I had no idea.” 

Marie just shrugged and snuck a hand pie onto his plate. Raven didn’t even notice when he began to eat it. “Well, it’s not like it’s totally malicious. The Barrier Wall makes it hard to support the outer ring. We take care of each other, though.”

Raven thought of all the friendly people he’d passed on his way to the tavern and found himself agreeing. He’d opened his mouth to ask more questions - he had so many! - when Marie and Carlos both held up hands for silence. At this signal, the whole tavern had gone quiet, the other patrons looking at the pair nervously. 

Raven didn’t understand what was happening, but he watched them, too. He saw them look at each other in alarm, then shout, “DOWN!”

 Not a moment later, the tavern shook and the air thundered as artillery exploded outside.

---

<Last chapter | Next chapter>

[psychotropicplague]

Let me start off by saying; if you’re not ready to try it, don’t do it.

Part of the experience is to be completely at ease and go into it with an open, positive mindset.

I can’t stress it enough that it can change your perception in the matter of hours— and if we’re being honest: it has been years since I’ve had it.

This was also the first time I had a joint in over a year. Everything leading up to the trip was completely dry from anything and the clarity I obtained whilst clean was undoubtedly the best I’ve felt in a long time..

But you’re probably wondering how it went...

I took one, my friend took three— mainly because he didn’t believe it was real, in-fact the first half hour after he had his first two, he kept telling me he didn’t feel anything, i warned him that it would creep-up on him and it would only be a matter of two hours before he’d peak.

Mind you, we’re going through Daylight Savings Time, so time itself was going really slow, I guess he got impatient and took another one.

I took mine with a swig of orange juice around 9:35pm and within minutes I started to feel a bit of a glowing sensation. Like a small spike in my awareness of what was going on— no introspective thoughts but aware that if I took two, I would not be going to work the next day (I had work at 11am the following morning) and I told him that it would be a strong sensation that would come up gradually. Believe it or not minutes after I had taken my first and only tab of the night, I took two small puffs of a joint and got baked instantly, it was somewhat overwhelming because it was as if the synapses and receptors in my brain usually occupied with fueling my medication (Lamictal 100mg, Invega 3mg and Vyvanse 50mg) was now slowing down and now combined with an unknown amount of THC, I felt stoned but at the same time kind of sore, naturally one should take into account that cannabis is a depressant and the combination of two mood-stabilizers (antipsychotic) and a stimulant with a hallucinogen is bound to make anyone feel kinda sluggish especially if they haven’t done anything like this in a really long time. It was only 9:45pm when we were talking, my voice sounding like I was balancing a coin in my mouth, but he was on the phone most of the first half-hour so we weren’t talking directly to one another but an occasional snide-joke was to be expected from him because he’s facetious as hell.

By 11pm, I could tell he was peaking— he was smiling and laughing, we were giggling because our voices were ridiculous sounding with his dissolving on his tongue. The thing that might’ve thrown him off thinking it was bunk was because sometimes in rare cases, you’ll get the kind that doesn’t have that distinct chemical taste that makes up the compound. For a first-time, you’re going to have to expect the unexpected.

My friend had turned on blue Christmas lights on in his room, which gave everything a bit of a sharpened outline, if you stared at something too long and closed your eyes you’d see the imprint of it on your eyelids and that’s how I know I was already gone. Not only did I see the imprint of these objects but at the same time I was also feeling like Jello, my body loosened from its tenseness it felt a half hour before but my heart was pumping quicker, I couldn’t really lay still and I wanted to cuddle something or someone because it made my tactile senses feel incredible; his bed felt like a cloud since it was memory-foam and I started to sprawl out and close my eyes to enjoy the closed-eye visuals which had a kaleidoscope-effect now. I grabbed one of his pillows and held it at arms length and tried to wrap one of my legs over it, it legitimately felt like I was cuddling another person because my breathing felt like someone else was in my embrace.

By 11:35pm, he turned off the blue-light and turned off all-lights in the room which amplified his trip tenfold; he tried to get up off the recliner he lounged in but couldn’t— just like me he felt very Jello-like and was both comfortable and taken by surprise by how it hit him like a ton-of-bricks. At this time I grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around me because he had his window-open and the cold breeze was coming into the room or maybe it was just my hypothalamus unsure of what temperature I was feeling because I went from cold to warm to cold to hot. I decided this was the opportune moment to play some trippy music, I picked Merriweather Post Pavilion by Animal Collective— which is PERFECT to play when you’re on any kind of trip, I had the volume on my phone set to two-clicks above silence, which normally wouldn’t be that loud (I mainly did this as to not stir my friend’s step-dad and to be respectful) but even two-clicks made the music sound like an amphitheater and really time-stretched it, a few minutes into one song felt and sounded like an eternity where you could truly appreciate the amount of work that went into making their album as mindblowing— as I laid on his bed, my brain disassembled some of the synthesizers and other sounds that made the song and could feel their unique distortion. I wanted to listen to the entire album but after a while with how time stretched it was, I had to turn it off because it only intensified and became almost too mellow.

We sat in silence for a while, maybe like another hour or so. I had brought my PlayStation 4 over his house and asked if we could play it, because I have never tried playing a video-game whilst tripping (I still haven’t) but he said no because he made it pretty clear to me he didn’t want to be staring at a screen all-night which partially made sense as it would’ve consumed a lot of time and the blue and white-light would keep us awake longer than we needed to be which would’ve ultimately made us completely sleepless— he just wanted to relax and so he asked if he could lay down on his bed, I let him lay down and I’d sit in the recliner he sat on for the past three hours and he sighed of relief when he got onto his bed, I tried to get comfortable on the recliner but it was difficult; to go from a really tranquil bed to sitting upright was by no means producing the same blissful effects as laying down flat.

I tried to get relaxed but it wasn’t easy, I laid my head on the pillow he gave me but as you can imagine, reclined on one of those chairs plus resting your head on a pillow on one of the arms of it is quite awkward and trying to find a way to curl-up isn’t pleasant either but this didn’t give me a bad-trip, I’ve never had a bad-trip.

Eventually I found my comfortable position and took a few hours nap while my brain basically started thinking about my life— what I’ve accomplished before all of this, a year of sobriety which now had to reset, but I somehow felt okay with that— to take a year break from cannabis and LSD didn’t seem to bother me, my brain thought of this trip and toke as a reward but I also thought about how some of my friend’s I’ve known for years are now doing alright for themselves and not doing this kind of thing which kind of made me feel sad and hopeless, I wanted nothing more than to have my own space where I could be cuddling and making love to someone passionately and slowly, bonding over the hallucinogen as you should— yes this is one of those things where it’s setting and individuals that factor into how much fun you’re going to have and how relaxed you’ll feel, if you’re tripping with someone you genuinely love and appreciate romantically, those feelings will be cranked to the max-level they can be; but sadly I’ve never experienced that either— and I really want to but it’s not easy at all to find it and you may or may not get opposition.

The next morning, literally around 8am, I had literally what felt like two hours of sleep— but I didn’t, I had six hours— I felt extremely deflated and sluggish as all hell; virtually no uplifting energy as I had the night before and even before I embarked on my trip. I had work at 11am, so I started packing my belongings and drove home— which surprisingly had no negative effects on my driving, if anything I was driving the posted speed-limits and didn’t make any mistakes, that alone kind of made me feel accomplished that I somehow managed to pull that off despite being lethargic and foggy-headed.

When I got home, I took my morning medication, took a shower and hoped for the best— that I’d go to work feeling fine and go about my day as normal as possible— but it didn’t go nearly as well as one would hope, because on-top of feeling the comedown and afterglow of the substances, my mind kept racing about things that were going sort-of awry in my life, I thought by doing what I did last night made me a failure in my family’s eyes— it’s bad enough that I had to hide behind the guise of a strong anti-smoke scent spray so I would come home and go to work inconspicuous but I couldn’t shake these thoughts and when I did finally get to work (earlier than scheduled) I got there at 10:15am, I decided I’d relax in my car for a while and try to meditate these racing thoughts into more composed ones, but I still felt scattered and drained of any kind of rational thinking.

I work at a bowling-alley which for the most part is pretty quiet until leagues or open-bowlers occupy the lanes we rent out. Around the time I clocked in, I paced around some to see if there was anything that needed to be done, we had a children’s party being held in an hour or so which occupied four lanes; while I was looking to see if there was anything I could do I still can safely admit, I was underperforming, nowhere near my seemingly manic energy that I had the week prior; my manager must’ve had some idea something was-up so she set me up with a challenge— to rearrange all of the balls on the floor in size-order, which is really counterproductive because no matter how you’d organize it, anybody who does open-bowl will almost never put them back where you organized them. I was with another coworker when my manager made us do this which required a lot of exertion and moving back and fourth between lanes and memorization, something my brain could not quite compute because I’m being told several different ways to organize them and we have so many different weights that it felt futile but I still tried my hardest, while this was all going on, the first league started coming in on the low-side of our building which began slowly increasing my anxiety so I stopped and began doing another task— degreasing any glass we had (usually the pictures we have hung-up around the center and the arcade machines and windows) but even then I’m told by my coworker that it isn’t necessary to do that: “We do that once a month” yet I do it mostly every shift I’m scheduled just so I can occupy any idle time I have because I know part of my job is to not stand-around and you have to be constantly moving...

Then the party came in, holy hell, this is where the center went from slow to now becoming gradually packed with patrons so I was stuck just doing tedious things like “mopping” the approach which is basically spraying alcohol on the wood approach and moving a rag attached to a stick to-and-fro, I tried doing so but I couldn’t quite grasp that either, my anxiety was getting in the way of doing anything right and it really began to become obvious something wasn’t right and I felt like my manager knew that— she offered lunch to me but I politely declined, something I wonder now if it would’ve had any effect on how I felt, she didn’t really have much to say— I think it might’ve made her upset to be honest.

After that I went into each of the rooms we have mats where my coworker suggested we power-wash them which was a much easier task and didn’t require nearly as much effort as you’d think— but still the center itself was packed with people and even when I finished doing that task I couldn’t quite figure out what to do next, so I waited some, took the garbage out, set-up some ramps and sat down to take a breather— it was only 1pm and 5pm felt like eons away— as soon as I stood up my manager startled me because she was right behind me, she claimed to have radioed me “5 times.” But the radio she gave me had a busted antenna and only gave me static, I explained this to her and again she had nothing to say, so I also explained that I was feeling anxious and overwhelmed about what truthfully has been troubling me— my father, which is partially true, he had gotten seriously injured by burning his hands on November 2nd and hadn’t told anyone, I brought him to the hospital on my birthday and he isn’t really doing too well mentally. Presently, he’s in a rehabilitation clinic recouping but I can see that he’s making small progress, this alone was a lingering thought all throughout the day.

My manager told me to clock-out and go home— “Maybe I’ll take you off the schedule for a few weeks..” she threatened, which would’ve been terrible given the fact that I have just started working here fairly recently and the last thing I’d want is to go without any income for a while.

So, all of that aside— today I feel somewhat more level-headed then I did yesterday and I’m hoping I can perform better at work today, I had two cups of coffee and I feel like a 7/10, which is waaaayy better than I did yesterday, I mean literally yesterday I felt like a 2/10.

My advice to anyone— if you’re going to do anything like this, make sure you don’t have work the following day.

[darspeaksout]

“Promised Land”

It was completely dark backstage. Jordan sat on a bench behind the curtain. Although he was trying, he could not hear the preacher with absolute clarity. That’s fine, he thought. Even if he couldn’t really hear, he could still watch; hung on the wall was a screen that captured everything that was happening out front, including the congregation: a sea of zealous youth who believed in God’s word, sitting upright, serious and stern as they listened to the sermon. Every few seconds the camera would switch from the preacher, to the congregation, to the preacher again, to the cross with Christ, then repeat its cycle.  

Jordan took off his headset to stretch his neck and massage it a little. He put his equipment back on again and spoke into his microphone: “Yes, yes it’s working. I can hear you, no problem. Can you hear me? Good. Where’s Joshua? He was supposed to be backstage –”

“Psst, Jordan”, whispered a voice, accompanied by its shadow.

“Never mind, he’s here”, Jordan said, diverting his attention to the figure quietly sitting down next to him.

“Working hard, I see?” murmured the voice.

Inching closer on the bench, Jordan figured out who it was. “It’s not easy being stage manager, Joshua.”

He patted Jordan on the shoulder. “I know. Today’s been so hectic, but praise God for your efforts.” Joshua pointed to the screen, showing the rosary wrapped around his fingers. “Look at all those people. I think this is the most we’ve ever had. Even more than last year’s.”

“Yeah, definitely”, Jordan agreed. “Are you ready for your part?”

“I’m a little nervous”, Joshua said. “But I got screened already and I’ve rehearsed it many times, so I think I should be good. Plus I’ve prayed about it, so God should be with me when I go up, right?”

“Right”, Jordan affirmed. “I’ll let you know when to go, but it won’t be for a while.”

“Do you see the guys anywhere?” Joshua asked, changing the subject.  

Jordan looked at the screen, searching for their faces among the crowd. After the camera repeated its cycle two or three times, he finally spotted them.

“They’re right there”, he said, pointing to the front row to two guys: Bryant and Emmet, reclined in their chairs, their heads sort of tilting loosely to one side; they were totally disengaged from what the preacher was saying. It was noticeable that they were unlike everybody else from church. Physically, they were more muscular; the largeness of their bodies demanded more space and asserted a defining contrast with the smallness of their chairs. But even the feeling that they gave off – it was different. It was unsettling. It made you feel like behind those angelic smiles were sins never confessed, like the way Bryant’s and Emmet’s church robes draped from their shoulders and adorned their bodies made it seem like something was hiding beneath them. Ask anybody in the congregation what they thought of Bryant and Emmet, and they’ll tell you they’re good guys. But the unsteadiness in their voice and their eyes looking away will make you wonder whether they’re telling you out of honesty, or out of fear.

Jordan remained transfixed on the screen, watching it shift perspectives just as his own thoughts were shifting. Bryant, Emmet, their smiles, their robes, their sins. Then –

“Drowned”, Jordan couldn’t help but say out loud.

“What? Did you say something, Jordan?” Joshua asked.

“N- no…”, he stammered. “No, nothing.”

Joshua nodded and resumed listening to the preacher. But Jordan felt it, and he knew Joshua felt it too: an eerie silence swarming over them, separating them like land at opposite ends of a river. Uneasy, Joshua slid a little further away on the bench, and Jordan, deep in thought, crossed his arms. The preacher’s indistinct speech was the only noise between them; to Jordan, it was like he was submerged underwater, trying to listen to what people above the surface were saying, though their voices were merely a distant call.

Not that much longer, Jordan broke the silence. “Do you remember Zachary?”

Joshua flinched at Jordan’s unexpected question, but more so at the blunt utterance of a dead boy’s name.

“Of course I remember him.” He began to fidget with his rosary. “Why, Jordan? Why bring him up?”

“It’s just…” he struggled. “I don’t know. I just thought of him now.”

What Jordan really wanted to say was that he thought of Zachary after he had seen the faces of Bryant and Emmet in the audience, and their unflinching smiles. He thought of him because among the hundreds of youth sitting in those rows, there would have been Zachary at every single annual conference, but not this year’s. Joshua remained quiet, waiting for Jordan to continue.

“I thought of him just now because I really miss him”, he finally said, keeping his voice low. “It’s been a rough time since he… since he passed.”

“It’s been a long time”, Joshua said flatly. “That’s what it’s been.”

As the preacher onstage was becoming impassioned by his own speech, Jordan had to slightly raise his voice. “And? It doesn’t affect you at all anymore?”

“He died a year ago. It’s not important anymore, Jordan.”

“So? You think that’s enough time to get over someone’s death? Someone close to you?”

Joshua spoke quietly, but his whispers came out like violent gusts of wind he was practically yelling. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying I don’t understand why you’re bringing this up now and out of nowhere.”

“Am I not allowed to talk about Zachary?”                                  

“God, Jordan, just cut with that name. Okay? Just don’t mention that name.”

The preacher was now hysterical, drowning out Jordan’s words; still, he persisted. “Why? Why are you ashamed to talk about him? Huh, Joshua? –”

A voice from Jordan’s headset: “Attention, backstage. Please lower your voices, the congregation may hear you. Tech booth.”

Jordan whispered an apology into his microphone. When the preacher began to calm down, Joshua continued: “I’m not ashamed of him. I just don’t want to remember –”

“That trip?” asked Jordan. “From last summer?”

“…Yeah.” Joshua slid his rosary away in his pocket. “Nobody wants to remember.”

“I do.”

“Why? It’s long gone.”

“But Zachary isn’t”, Jordan protested. “Doesn’t it stay with you, Joshua? How we found him on the beach the next morning, just… lying there?”

He sighed. “Of course it does. But at some point, I had to move on. I had to be strong for the church. Our numbers were going down after the funeral; everyone was too busy mourning instead of serving.”

“What good was serving, when we left a brother behind? When we let him die?”

“Oh my God, Jordan. Don’t overreact. What happened was an accident. We didn’t know he couldn’t swim.”

“You say we should’ve moved on to save our church, but we couldn’t even save one person.”

“Jordan, you can’t blame yourself for what happened. It was Zach’s choice to go out at night when we were all asleep. How were we supposed to save him if he drowned?”

Jordan slammed the bench.

Another warning: “Attention, backstage. Second time. Please keep quiet, the congregation may hear you. Tech booth.”

But Jordan removed his headset and let it dangle around his neck. He turned to Joshua, shaking.

“Jordan, what’s your problem?”

“Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Lower your voice.”

“You think I care?!”

“Attention, backstage! You’ve distracted the congregation. What is going on there?”

Jordan gathered the remainder of his self-control to take the rest of this talk outside. Squeezing Joshua by the wrist, he dragged him into an empty corridor that hid behind the venue. When the doors were flung open, Joshua was blinded by the harsh fluorescent lights on the ceiling, and the squeaking of his shoes echoed all throughout the never-ending stretch of white walls and white floor. After reaching the middle of the hallway, Jordan released him.

“Jordan, seriously. What the hell?” He yelled, rubbing his wrists.

“Goodness, Joshua. You still don’t get it, do you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Jordan was crying now. “Zachary’s death wasn’t an accident, Joshua. It was a suicide.”

Joshua’s face drained of colour. He stood there, with his mouth agape, frozen.

“It was a suicide”, Jordan repeated. “Zachary killed himself. He waited until we were all sleeping that night so he could walk out onto the beach and do it without anybody stopping him.”

“No, no… shut up Jordan! This isn’t real!”

“It is real! Dammit Joshua, we could’ve all done something to prevent him! Don’t you remember how horrible we treated him on that trip? Always ignoring him, always leaving him out, going through his suitcase and dumping everything inside, accusing him of things he never did? Like peeping on Emmet showering? All of that and his parents refusing to accept him for the way he was drove him to do it!”

Joshua backed away frantically, bumping into the walls. “Just stop talking! You’re making all this up!”

“We killed him, Joshua!” Jordan was advancing now. “We killed him. You, me, Bryant, Emmet, all of us who went on that God-awful trip, we all killed Zachary!”

“Liar! I’ll never believe you. Besides, even if he did kill himself you have no evidence to prove it was because of us.” Joshua ran for the doors.

But Jordan sprinted and blocked his way, preventing him from crossing over to backstage. His bloodshot eyes pierced straight through Joshua’s. Jordan was panting, but his voice did not quake. “No evidence? I have his suicide letter.”

Joshua couldn’t say anything, but his eyes told Jordan that he was finally aware of the sin they both committed. Reaching slowly into his pocket, Jordan took out a folded piece of paper that looked weather-beaten by water and sand. He held it up to Joshua’s face.

“Read it”, he demanded.

        Fingers trembling, Joshua was about to take the letter, until –

        A voice from Jordan’s headset: “Please escort Joshua to the stage now. The preacher has cued for him to go on. Tech booth.”

        Jordan spoke into his microphone: “No.”

        “Escort Joshua to the stage now. The congregation is beginning to notice something’s off.”

        Jordan was now clenching his microphone, speaking through gritted teeth. “I said. Joshua. Will not. Go. On stage.”

        Murmurs in the background of what should be done next. Then the voice returned:“In that case, Jordan, you leave us no choice.”

        The signal cut off.

        “What? Hello, tech booth? Can you hear me? Answer me!”

Jordan kept pressing the button on his microphone, but stopped when he heard someone running down the hallway. From the way their feet were hitting the floor, he could tell it wasn’t just one person. It was two. He and Joshua looked, and from the corner emerged two muscular figures: Bryant and Emmet.

They sprinted to Jordan and knocked him down, causing him to drop the letter. An electric pain surged through his spine and traveled to his shoulder blades, as he could hear them cracking against the stone floor, feel them moving around his back. His body convulsed as he screamed in agony. There was no one there to help him and he could not get up.

        Then he remembered the letter. The only proof. And it must stay alive.

        Jordan was struggling to get up but the most he could do was go on his knees, when he stopped – as he noticed Bryant walking over to where the letter had fallen, and bending down to pick it up. Twirling it in his fingers like a toy, he smiled at Jordan, and reached into his robe to reveal a church candle, while Emmet reached into his and took out a match.

“Say goodbye to Zachary”, said both of them in unison. Bryant and Emmet set the letter on fire.

Jordan knelt, screaming his dead friend’s name as loud as his lungs would let him. Watching the paper burn and the ash pile up on the ground, all he could do was blame himself, blame himself for having failed Zachary twice. For being too afraid to speak; for speaking too late. As the flames engulfed the letter, all Jordan could think about was Zachary and how he had been suffering even more than this; how his spirit had been breaking and each time on the trip Jordan chose to stay quiet, he was dragging Zachary closer to the waters. Staring at the embers that remained, he knew that he was defeated. But when he noticed the person who had stood there the entire time, Jordan looked to him as his last hope.

“Joshua, please don’t go out there”, he begged.

“Sorry, Jordan.” He walked past him, opened the doors, and made his way to the stage just as the preacher had cued.

Everyone in the auditorium was cheering and clapping when they saw him. Joshua did his best to speak calmly. “Brothers and sisters, praise God all of you are here today”, he began.

Watching Joshua from the hallway, Bryant and Emmet smiled.

“Praise God”, said Bryant.

“Praise Him, indeed”, said Emmet.

        A buzz from Bryant’s headset, then a voice: “Praise God for your efforts, boys. Tech booth.”

[your-iron-lung]

Mixed Up 7 | Nine Million Rainy Days |

Chapter Word Count: 4133

Pairings: Zoro/Sanji

Genre: Comedy, Drama, Romance

Chapter Warning: Strong Language

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,

Next Chapter: 8

"So, you're on a hockey team?" Sanji asked slowly, mindfully taking slow drinks of his beer. "I thought you punk types were against organized shit."

Zoro rolled his eyes and frowned as he finished his fourth beer, setting the empty bottle down amidst the others on the coffee table. Sanji was admittedly surprised at his ability to drink so much in such a short span of time, and was almost jealous at how Zoro didn't even seem to be drunk in the slightest. Sanji was on his second beer and already seemed to be getting tipsy, which led him to believe that the punk was probably an alcoholic.

"I'm against organized government, not organized sports teams, idiot."

"Aren't they the same sort of thing though? A leader bossing his subordinates around? 'You there, little government man, listen to what I, big government say', as opposed to 'I, big hockey man, tell you, little hockey man, where to hit the puck'?" Sanji couldn't help but take on a mocking tone as he spoke, and recoiled when Zoro stood up and brushed past him roughly, punching him hard on the knee as he went. Sanji kicked after him as he walked into the kitchen to get another drink and smirked at the way he stumbled and almost fell.

"Fucker, it's not like that at all," Zoro said dismissively as he regained his footing, to which Sanji snorted.

"So how's it different?"

"Christ." Sanji heard him mumble as he opened and shut the fridge roughly. Instead of coming back around to sit down with him on the sofa, Zoro stood staring angrily at him from around the tall kitchen counter. "It just is, shit-head. I wouldn't expected a stupid bastard like you to understand the difference between sports and authority."

"Right, because insulting the intelligence of the guy calling something problematic out totally doesn't make you look like a moron who can't back up his argument, or like the kind of person said moron resents by being anti-fascist." Sanji reclined back against the sofa and propped his feet up on the adjacent coffee table, being mindful not to kick the empty bottles or the bong over. He could practically hear Zoro wordlessly fuming as he came back into the living room, so that when Sanji looked up, grinning cheekily, he saw that the punk was standing and staring at him pointedly.

"You wanna tussle, fucky?" he eventually growled.

"In here? No," Sanji commented lazily, casting Zoro a confident look as he set his beer down on the table and stood up. "Outside? Sure."

Despite the angry look on Zoro's face, Sanji recognized a sense of approval written underneath his furrowed eyebrows. The green-haired punk chugged the rest of his drink and then set it aside as he walked to the door, opening it and then stepping out.

"Oi, at least let me put my shoes on!" Sanji shouted as he hurriedly began to pull them on. He could hear Zoro loudly making his way down the stairs, and grit his teeth at the man's ability to be a complete and total yob.

He ignored his tipsy feeling as he followed Zoro out the door and down the four flights of stairs. The air outside had changed drastically since he'd earlier been outside with Nami, and he couldn't help the shiver that overcame him as a wet wind blew by. When he finally made it down to the ground floor and strolled out of the breezeway, he noticed that big, dark rain clouds had begun to amass overhead.

Glancing around for Zoro, Sanji saw him standing near Franky, who'd returned with the new car battery. One look at the punk and Sanji could see that the fight had gone out of him, as he now stood directing his anger upwards.

"That bitch," Zoro mumbled darkly as Sanji came closer, casting an irritated look to the slowly darkening sky. "Could've warned me it was going to rain."

The heavy grey clouds rewarded his irritability by spattering him with a few drops of pre-mature rain, causing Zoro to scrunch his face up and look away towards where Franky was working.

The hood of the small yellow hatchback was raised so the large man could work, but even still, Franky seemed cramped under the limited space, though he didn't seem to mind. What he did seem to mind, though, was how cold it was becoming, as the air around them was chilled and damp, making Sanji wish he'd worn his coat. Franky looked uncomfortable in his tight hot pants and was constantly shivering despite wearing a denim jacket that was thickly lined with wool. Sanji might've laughed at him if he'd known Franky better, but decided not to while he glanced at the clouds with little interest as they began to sprinkle the earth with a light rain.

"What's wrong with the rain?" he finally asked, facing Zoro.

"I can't ride in the rain," he remarked slowly, scowling fiercely and looking towards where his motorcycle was parked across the lot. "How the fuck she expects me to get to practice in the rain, I have no idea."

They lapsed into silence as the sound of thunder rumbling vaguely in the distance caught up to them. Zoro turned the collar of his denim vest up against the wind and angrily began to button it shut. The wind caught in his makeshift earrings, making the safety-pins dangle loosely in such an alluring way that Sanji found his eye drawn to them.

"Sounds like you need a ride," he said casually, watching as they twisted and collided with themselves, creating slight, tinkling noises that were mostly lost in the wind. Zoro turned, drawing Sanji's attention away from the pins as he found himself the subject of an odd and irate look.

"You offering?"

Sanji shrugged while Franky replaced the car's battery. He reached his hand into his pants pocket to pluck out and light a cigarette, covering the end with his hands carefully to cover the cherry as the wind and rain threatened to extinguish it.

"No, I was just saying that's what you sound like," he said after a moment, carelessly blowing smoke in Zoro's direction.

"Fucker," Zoro snarled, shoving his hands angrily into the pockets of his vest, drawing it tight across his body as Sanji grinned. "Even after I gave you a ride."

"Just take the bus, man," Franky mumbled distractedly as he hurriedly tried to install the new battery before the downpour began.

"It doesn't run that far."

Franky shrugged and then eventually stood upright with a completed look on his face. He clapped his hands together and then shut the hood, turning towards Sanji and giving him a broad grin and a thumbs up. "Your car should run super now, bro! Here, give her a try."

Sanji was surprised to see Franky pull his car keys out of his jacket pocket, and scolded himself for letting an almost stranger have complete and total access to his car. He didn't know these people; Franky could've easily stolen his car while he'd been getting stoned and high, and Sanji would've been completely unaware.

He took back his keys and hesitantly went for the driver's side door, trying to cast his mistrust of the punks away. Not typically a man of prayer, Sanji found himself wishing and hoping to whoever might be listening to please, God, let it work.

The door was unlocked when he went to open it, so he sidled into the seat and slipped the key into the ignition and then glanced out the windshield. Franky was giving him a huge grin and popped another thumbs up while the wind tousled his ridiculously bright blue hair around, completely throwing it out of whatever groom the man had had it in. Zoro looked remarkably uncomfortable, standing stiffly in place in attempts to stifle a shiver with his mouth drawn into a tight, thin, unsupportive line.

'Well, here goes,' he thought as he shut his eyes and twisted the key.

At first it sounded as though it wasn't going to go through, but after a few moments of nothing, Sanji's car finally came alive.

"It worked!" he exclaimed, looking genuinely surprised as he glanced up to meet Franky's eyes.

"Suuuuuuuuper! I knew it would! Oh yeah!"

He began to do a victory dance that consisted of a series of thrusts aimed at Zoro, who quickly moved away from them. Sanji cut the engine and excitedly stuffed his keys into his pocket, making sure to lock the door as he exited the vehicle.

"I really appreciate it," Sanji said, walking towards where Franky was dancing to reach out and shake his hand.

Franky paused in his dancing to study him for a moment, then grabbed his hand to pull him into the tightest, most uncomfortable hug Sanji had ever experienced in his life. He grunted in surprise as he heard and felt his back snap, and groaned when he heard Zoro laugh.

"Any time! Any friend of Zoro's is a friend of-"

"We're not- we're not friends!" Sanji wheezed, trying to pull himself out of Franky's painful grasp.

"What, really?" Confused, Franky released Sanji, who nearly fell to his knees as he gasped for air. "Why'd you have me come fix his car then, bro?"

The amusement Zoro had expressed at Sanji's discomfort slowly faded into an expression of annoyance as he pondered Franky's question. Instead of answering, though, he turned around and walked back into the breezeway, where Franky and Sanji could hear him ascending the stairs.

"Ah, should've known," Franky said, grinning to himself and shaking his head.

"Known what?" Sanji asked, grunting as he attempted to stretch out the kink in his back.

"Zoro's just nice like that. He tries to be this real big mean tough punk, but, man, you've seen how he is."

Sighing, Sanji took a deep drag of his cigarette while Franky laughed idly.

"I don't know about that," he said, mumbling lowly around his cigarette. From what he'd seen so far, Zoro was nothing more than an idiot with nice friends who let him call in favours. "What do I owe you for all this?"

Franky stopped laughing to consider the question, even as the wind began to pick up even more. His hawaiian shirt unbuttoned itself and began to flutter madly in the breeze, offering Sanji a sight of the man's overly toned body. Sanji carefully averted his gaze as Franky scratched at one of his sideburns contemplatively, and then alternated to scratch at the other, looking deep in thought before an idea struck him and his face lit up.

"I'll call it even if you give Zoro a ride to his practice tonight, alright?"

Sanji's couldn't help but let his shoulders drop as he slumped; just when he'd thought he was done socializing with the punk, something else just had to draw him back into his company. If Franky noticed he looked unwilling, he ignored it until Sanji sighed again and relented.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, tensing up when he saw that Franky was about to go in for another hug of gratitude.

He quickly sidestepped the big man, who turned with him and ended up clapping him harshly on the back.

"Super! I knew you were a cool guy! Zoro'll appreciate it!"

"Great," Sanji said, trying his damndest to stay standing as Franky's heavy hand insisted on trying to push him over into a puddle. His cigarette slipped from his lips and onto the wet sidewalk, frustrating him.

From the stairway they could hear Zoro returning as his boots loudly echoed off the buildings walls. He stepped out of the breezeway with a beer in hand and a large sort of covering Sanji assumed was meant for his bike.

"Oi, Zoro!" Franky called as Zoro began to walk across the parking lot towards where his motorcycle was parked. He paused and looked back at the both of them, taking a drink of his beer. "Quit drinking! You're going to practice; Sanji said he'd take ya!"

Zoro didn't move for a moment, and then, to Sanji's amusement, he began to chug the beer. He titled it back and swallowed all of it down in a quick few seconds before giving Franky and Sanji the middle finger.

"Super," Franky repeated with a smile and a laugh as Zoro began to cover his motorcycle. He gave Sanji's back one last slam before he stepped off the sidewalk to return to the muscle car he'd arrived in. "If you have any other car troubles, bro, don't hesitate to ring me up!"

"Will do," Sanji said sourly, stepping back into the breezeway to avoid getting rained on further, although by now he figured it wouldn't help much.

Waving Franky off, Sanji stood by the stairs to wait for Zoro to return. Cold and wet, he shivered in place as the wind rushed past him. He cursed, wishing he hadn't left his coat in Zoro's apartment when the punk finally came back.

His usually spiked hair had fallen flat from the rain, and he looked about as irritated and cold as Sanji felt.

"When's your practice?" Sanji asked, holding his arms together tightly across his chest to keep warm.

"6:30," Zoro replied through chattering teeth, holding the same position.

Sanji pulled out his cellphone to check the time and had to wipe away the moisture that had accumulated across the screen to read it.

"That's in an hour," he said, pocketing his phone again to squint at Zoro. "Where the hell is it that the bus doesn't run?"

"It's the skateway in Bighorn."

"Shit," Sanji said, glowering. "All the way in Bighorn? We'd better leave now, then."

Zoro narrowed his eyes but seemed to agree. He stood still, rubbing his hands over his bare arms before he wordlessly began to ascend the stairs.

"Where the fuck-" Sanji started, but was interrupted.

"I gotta get my gear and change, shithead. Not wearing wet clothes to an ice rink. I'll meet you back down here in 10."

Zoro continued up the steps as Sanji thought about what he'd said. Feeling the damp fabric of his thin, button-up shirt clinging to his skin made him uncomfortably cold, and as the wind brought in a gust of rain, he quickly decided that Zoro had the right idea and let himself into his own apartment to change.

He disrobed himself of the shirt he'd been wearing as soon as the door shut behind him and rubbed his arms fervently to warm them. He strolled into his bedroom and began to look through his closet, wondering if he had anything warm enough to wear to an ice rink when he found a thick, plain black cotton long-sleeved shirt and threw it on, almost sighing in pleasure when it immediately encapsulated him in warmth.

He did sigh when he remembered he'd have to brave the outside rain again, and braced himself for that eventuality. Coming out of his bedroom, he waited by the front door until he could hear Zoro coming down the stairs to meet him. He opened the door to find that he'd been about to knock on it, and they both paused at the awkwardness it introduced before the punk put his hand down and then shoved Sanji's coat at him.

"I thought about keeping it," Zoro said as he adjusted the strap of the duffel bag he was carrying across his chest and the leather jacket he'd changed into. "Then I realized I didn't want something so shitty stinking up my apartment."

"Well fuck you," Sanji snarled as he put his coat on and then turned to lock his apartment.

Zoro snickered at him as they rushed out to his car, neither one of them willing to linger long in the cold rain. Sanji only unlocked his door, though, and quickly slipped inside, shutting it after himself and then turning the car on. Zoro knocked hard on the passenger's side window, a foul look of annoyance drawn across his features as the rain pelted down upon him. Sanji couldn't help but smirk at him from inside his car as he adjusted the air-conditioning to something warm.

He let Zoro squirm and fuss outside as he turned the windshield wipers on and then leaned over to unlock the other door. Zoro threw it open angrily and twisted his duffel bag around so it rested in his lap as he slammed the door shut and sat down in his seat.

"You mother fucker-" he began, leaning over the dividing center-piece to make an attempt at Sanji's life.

"Seatbelt, shithead," Sanji reminded in a chiding tone, laughing to himself as he watched Zoro furiously sit back and try to get the seatbelt to click into place.

"Fuck you," Zoro grumbled as he finally got settled, slouching lowly in his seat to accommodate for his sunken mood.

"And you know what the best part of all this is?" Sanji asked happily, turning around in his seat to back out of the parking spot, sparing a quick, happy glance at Zoro.

"What?" he mumbled in response, not quite feeling up to facing Sanji's elation directly.

"Now its your turn to owe me."

Sanji chuckled as he drove them out of the apartment complex, amused at the way Zoro was discovering new ways to slouch and slunk in his seat.

The ride to the skateway was slow and largely boring. The fastest speed Sanji's windshield wipers could go wasn't fast enough to keep up with the oncoming torrent of flooding rain, forcing him to drive at a slower pace than he was accustomed to. This in turn had Zoro complaining about how he was going to be late, and when Sanji told him to hey, shut the fuck up, I'm doing the best I can- Zoro began to criticise the fact that there was nothing good on the radio to listen to.

After they'd argued about the authenticity of pop music ("It's mass-produced garbage made to appeal to the masses; it has no substance!" "It doesn't need substance to be good." "Right, you just have to be able to dance to it." "You make that sound like a bad thing. Not everything has to be about pointing out what's wrong with the state of the world to be good." "That's just what the pop music industry wants you to think. Remain complicit; I don't care." "Then shut the fuck up."), Sanji finally grew frustrated enough to turn the radio off, and with nothing left to complain about, Zoro kept quiet.

They managed to arrive at the skateway with 5 minutes to spare before his practice started. Exhausted from having argued with Zoro for so long, Sanji decided to wait out the practice by napping in his car. Zoro rushed inside with all his gear in tow, and Sanji allowed the sounds of the rain pattering down upon his car to lull him into a light, but easy sleep.

He was awoken some time later by Zoro noisily letting himself in, making Sanji snort and start as he tossed his duffel bag over his shoulder and into the backseat.

"That was quick," Sanji said around a yawn, stretching his arms out in what little space he had when Zoro's outstretched hand caught him off-guards. "Huh?"

"Let me borrow your phone."

"Why?" Sanji asked suspiciously, lowering his arms slowly.

"Because I don't have one and I need to make a call," Zoro said, rolling his eyes when Sanji refused. "Look, I'm not going to steal it; you're my ride home- I can't pocket it when I'm sitting right next to you."

"You know you can buy pre-paid phones at Wal-Mart for cheap, right?" he said as he sat up, raising his hips as he attempted to weasel his phone from out of the tight confines of his jeans.

"I hate Wal-Mart," Zoro said impatiently, insistently making grabbing motions when Sanji began to take too long.

"Oh, right, I forgot punks are against the convenience of capitalism," Sanji drolled as he finally got his phone free and deposited it into Zoro's waiting hand.

"Fuck capitalism," the punk affirmed as he fumbled with the slight iPhone.

It was obvious watching him that Zoro had very little experience in working smart phones. After two failed attempts at unlocking the screen, Sanji rolled his eyes and grabbed it back from him to do it for him. He brought up the menu to make a phone call and then passed it back to Zoro, who looked none too grateful, but took it anyway.

"Sucks for you I need to stop by Wal-Mart on the way back anyway," Sanji said as Zoro struggled to input numbers. "Get a phone while we're there."

Zoro didn't respond as a tone dial began to emit from the phone. He held it to his ear as Sanji started the car and began to leave the skateway. The rain had stopped sometime while Zoro had been in practice, for which Sanji was pleased; it was hard to drive in the dark and the rain when your wipers barely wiped and your headlights were as weak as his seemed to be.

"Hey," Zoro said, causing Sanji to briefly look over at him before realizing he was on the phone. "I need to borrow some money."

Sanji could hear someone replying on the other end of the line, but the voice was so tinny and distant that he couldn't make out what they were saying.

"I fucking broke my stick."

Though Sanji was not the type to eavesdrop, he couldn't help but look over at him in confusion. How the hell had he managed that? Zoro gave him an angry side-look that told him to fuck off. With a roll of his eyes, Sanji tried not to listen in on Zoro's conversation anymore, and began to tune him out as he thought of where the nearest Wal-Mart might be.

He didn't have to think long about it, however, as a big, illuminated sign pointed out that a Wal-Mart was coming up at the next intersection. Switching into the turn lane, Sanji navigated his way towards the store while Zoro continued his conversation.

"Yes, fine, whatever; I'll pay back whatever fucking bullshit interest you decide on." Zoro sighed and let his head thump against the cold glass of the window. Noticing now where they were, he sat up again and announced to whomever it was he was talking to that he had to go.

Hanging up, Zoro let out a long, drawn out sigh of frustration as he kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. He passed the phone back to Sanji, but when he didn't take it, let it rest on the center console until they'd parked.

"Broke your stick, huh," Sanji commented as he grabbed his phone and wiped it screen-down along his pants. "How'd you manage that?"

"None of your fucking business," Zoro snapped, though he honestly seemed more tired than angry. "Asshole teammate pissed me off."

They said nothing more to each other as they walked across the parking lot until they were under the overhang and about to enter the store. Zoro suddenly looked aware and stopped as the automatic doors opened, allowing Sanji inside with a spray of air. Sanji paused when he noticed the punk wasn't with him, and looked back at him to see that Zoro looked almost uncomfortable.

His lips were pulled down and his posture was stiff with uncertainty, but whatever it was keeping him from coming inside Sanji chalked up to him not wanting to sully whatever punk reputation he had by giving the chain retail store his business.

"What? Capitalism suddenly stricken you immobile?" he asked sarcastically.

"Something like that," Zoro said while shrugging and finally deciding to follow after Sanji. He kept his head low as they walked past the check-out counters and into the store.

It looked as though he was trying to remain inconspicuous, but the way he was walking with his shoulders hunched and most of his face hidden behind the lapel of his leather jacket he was intently holding up made him look incredibly suspicious.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sanji hissed, frowning when a few of the store associates began to notice them and Zoro's odd behaviour. "Knock it off, asshole."

"Now's probably the time where I tell you I've been banned from every Wal-Mart on the planet," Zoro mumbled, to which Sanji groaned.

"Every store? On the planet? Fuck," he said, dragging a hand down across his face in irritation as they quickly hurried down an aisle and away from the employees noticing them.. "Should've fuckin' guessed it."

[justjessame]

Diamonds Are A Boy’s Best Friend Chapter 27

I didn’t wait long for the next update from Pop-Pop.  It came hours after he’d sent a midwife to check in on me.  A midwife who looked over my overall health, advised both myself and Selma that my nausea would grow worse with stress, and patted my hand to assure me that women had been giving birth since the dawn of time and I’d be alright.  

Her other rules made little sense, which meant that I had to wonder how realistic the entire ordeal would be.  No reading, she sniffed, seeing my books lined and stacked around my room.  Too much excitement wasn’t good for my condition.  Rest, and a great deal of it, even as I lay reclining on my bed.  No bumpy car rides, no funerals, no sporting events.  Nothing to get my emotions raised.  No reaching over my head, which she said as she took in my petite frame.  She asked if I smoked or drank, but since I’d felt the first gurgling of vomit I hadn’t felt the urge to take up smoking and the scent of alcohol or the memory of it made me gag.  

She left, telling me to watch my weight, to keep a pleasant and quiet mind, and I rolled my eyes at Selma as she stood next to me with a smirk.

“Is she insane?”  I finally asked, having been rendered speechless by the overbearing woman.  “Does she have any idea what family I belong to?”  No stress?  Good luck.

Selma snorted.  “She’s right about at least one thing,”  I glanced up at her.  “Women HAVE been doing this forever, and we survive.”  She helped me to my feet, since I wasn’t completely up to full strength yet.  “I nearly burst out laughing when she told you no reading.”  

I had to smile at that.  Selma had teased me about my appetite for books from the moment we first met.  “Yes, well, I nearly concussed myself when she advised ‘no stress’, as though I have another option.”  

Pop-Pop called soon after.  I was lounging on the sofa, per midwife’s orders, reading one of the books she’d taken such offense to, when Selma handed me the phone.  

“How are you, Lizzie?”  He asked, as I greeted him.  “You listening to Ellen’s advice?”  Ellen, the midwife.  I snorted and heard him chuckle.  “I promised not to add to your stress, sweetheart, but I have some news.”

“Ike?”  A breathless as I could sound when I was saying his name to his face.  “Is he alright?”

“He made bail.”  Meg, I thought.  “That wife of his, she’s got a jealous streak a mile wide.”  Wait, what?  

“I don’t understand, Pop-Pop.”  I didn’t, what did Vera’s jealousy have to do, I went cold.  Did she know?  “She knows,” I breathed.  

“No, Lizzie, no.”  He sighed.  “The sister-in-law?”  I made a noise of knowing who he meant.  “She offered the money, family like, but the wife?  She turned her down flat.”  How did he know?  “That Sid, he’s a good guy.”  Oh, Ike’s lawyer.  “He tells me that the wife, she stands up and makes demands for the money, but when it’s offered by the in-law, she spits at it.”  So who gave it?  “Your father,” No, I prayed, no.  “He tried to get the son to let him pay it.  The kid, he’s stubborn and says no.”  Of course he did, I thought, since this triangle between Lily, Father, and him was a torrid ring of confusion.  “Some bookie, Bel something, he gave the wife the cash.”  Bel?  Wasn’t Bel-shit.  “Then the wife and Ike had their wonderful reunion in full view.”  

“Bel works for Father.”  I offered, pushing aside the thought of how wonderful Vera and Ike had reunited, I offered and heard my grandfather chuckle.  “Any more bad news?”  I settled back against the pillow that Selma had brought me to make the sofa more comfortable.

“He’s free.  And he wants to have a chat with me.”  I nodded, and realized he couldn’t see me, but it didn’t seem to matter because he went on.  “He’s got ideas, Lizzie, plans, I’m told.”  What kind of ideas and plans?  What kind would Ike have to call on Pop-Pop?  “Did you know an Al that worked for Ben?”

“Yes, he-”  I stopped suddenly realizing he’d used past tense.  “Al’s dead?”  I felt a strange clutch of sadness at the knowledge that one of my father’s hired goons was gone.  “How?”

“The story is that Al went after the witness against Ike,”  the woman that Sid had mentioned.  “The whore lived, Al got shot and killed by a hero cop.”  He was scoffing at the idea of it being true.  I shut my eyes, wondering who was next.  “I’m sorry, Lizzie, I-”

“I know,” I swallowed hard.  “It’s just a mess, isn’t it?”  

Another chuckle.  “That it is, honey, that it is.”  

We said goodbye soon after, and as Selma took the phone back, I felt the rush of vomit that I’d been fighting during the call come fighting its way out, and almost didn’t make it to the bathroom.  

The next call came while I was sleeping.  I heard the ringing phone, but rolled over and tried to drift back off.  Selma rushing into the room, turning the light on ruined the attempt.  “Here,” she said, a large smile on her face and her hair a tangled mess.  “Take it.”  

I blinked away the spots that the bright light had coated my vision in, and realized she was handing me the phone.  Groaning, and staying prone from weeks of experience at what sitting up too fast could cause, I held the receiver to my ear.  “Hello?”  I sounded hoarse from sleep, because I’d been sleeping, but the news that my grandfather was giving me woke me fully and I couldn’t stop myself from sitting upright.

“The charges have been dropped, Lizzie.”  I sighed in relief, and nearly squealed as Lily had when she wanted to take me shopping the first time.  “He’s free and clear.”  

“Thank God.”  I sighed, feeling the vertigo from my sudden upright pose had caused, I choked the rising bile down.  “How?”  

He told me that Judi Silver, the witness, had recanted her statement naming Ike as the murderer.  Instead, she offered up Al, dead already and unable to be charged.  I wondered what the truth was, and if I’d ever know?  The money for Ike’s bail would go back to Bel, to my father, and Ike would go back to being the king of his sand castle.  

“The wife,”  I sighed, feeling the burn of tears at the reminder.  “She’s gonna be going on stage dancing.  I hear that it’s gonna be billed as ‘the queen of the Miramar Playa, former queen of the Tropicana’ bullshit.  Can’t seem to book anyone else.”  He chuckled at the thought of Ike’s wife returning to the stage.  And the way he said dancing implied what he thought of that idea.  

I huffed out my own mirthless laugh.  “Ike must be desperate.  He told me-”  I stopped, what Ike had told me kept seeming to contradict itself.  “Have you seen him?”  

“Not yet,” he sighed.  “Lizzie, you can’t expect-”

“I don’t.”  I promised him and myself.  “I don’t expect anything, Pop-Pop.”  And it was almost the truth.  “Just-  I never got to-”  Say goodbye, tell him I’d love him and our baby, that I wanted to kiss him and maybe, just maybe then I’d be able to let go?  I brushed away the tears that I’d finally let fall, and shook it off.  It did no good to wallow.  

“I hear the daughter asks about you.”  Lauren?  Why would she ask after me?  “Seems that she took a liking to you.  She wants to know where you went, when you’ll come back, and why you didn’t say goodbye.”  

Heavily sighing, I thought about how she must feel.  She’d lost her mother at such a young age, but unlike me, she remembered hers.  And I thought about the lunches I shared with her and Vera, the way she watched me and the promise I’d made to take her shopping, but didn’t because I’d seen the flash of hurt that had crossed Vera’s face at how excited she’d seemed at the prospect.  I’d taken her husband carnally, I couldn’t take her stepdaughter’s friendship.  

“I should have-”  I wondered if anything would ever feel right again.  If I’d ever feel like I hadn’t failed at everything.  “Is there more?”

“Sid keeps me in the loop.  Ike still wants to chat, I’m making him sweat.”  He sounded gruff again.  “Putz puts you in this condition and gets out-” he made a noise that sounded like passing gas, “nothing.  He can stew, he can worry.  He’ll get his meeting, Lizzie, but he might not want to face me.”  He went quiet, making me think he was holding something back.  

“There’s more?”  I wanted it all.  Purge it and move on, or pretend to.  “Pop-Pop?”

“His family had a celebration, since he’s in the clear.”  I waited, and wasn’t disappointed, at least not in the sense that I was right, there was more.  “Ben showed up.  Ike insulted him.  He reminded, quietly I’m told, Ike about your current predicament, and-”

“Threatened to tell Vera?”  Of course, why wouldn’t he?  “And?”

“He left, it was tense.”  He chuckled again.  “The wife, I’m told it’s not all rainbows and sunshine, but-”

“There’s an image to maintain.”  I knew this, the scandal of a murder charge, even if it was dismissed, was something they had to work through.  

“He visited the whore.”  I shook my head at what Pop-Pop was insinuating with his tone.  “To ‘thank’ her.  She didn’t let him in.”  

“Miami sounds busy.”  I was choking back the urge to vomit and he noticed.

“Go, Lizzie, then have the tea you told me about.”  I agreed with a murmur of apology and thrust the phone back at Selma as I ran to the bathroom and let everything rush out.  

I was being punished.  That was the only thing I could think as I retched up anything I had put in my mouth that evening.  Punished for envy, for infidelity, for immorality.  But, as I stood up finally, and scrubbed the acidic sour taste from my mouth, I wouldn’t give up the tiny piece of Ike I still had.  Even if I felt exhausted and my nerves were stretched to the breaking point.  If the baby was all I kept from him, all I was allowed, then it was more precious to me than all the money or jewels in the world.  And I hoped it knew.  Knew that I already loved it, even if it was forcing misery upon me every single morning.  

Selma tried to keep my mind busy.  She tried distracting me with thoughts of shopping for new clothes.  She tempted me with trips to bookstores.  She took it as a personal challenge to find foods that would stay down, and new teas that would help soothe my rolling stomach as the silence from Pop-Pop and the news from Miami stretched out and dried up respectively.  

“Tents,” I swore, looking through the racks at the store she’d talked me into going to.  “Everything for an expecting woman, it all looks like tents.”  The patterns, the bows, and the utter ugliness of them, offended me on a deep level.  “Once we’re expecting do we all join the Navy?”  I asked, pulling a tent that was trying to pretend it was a sailor suit.  And held it up to Selma’s smirking amusement.  

“Can I help you?”  A frowning saleswoman approached, clearly offended by my mockery of the store’s line of camping equipment masquerading as clothing.  

“I think my niece,” Selma started, seeing my cringe grow as I flicked through more hangers holding uglier choices by the second.  “Wants to know if you have anything a little less-”

“Eye-gougingly hideous?”  I offered with a grimace.  I held up another tent with an enormous bow.  And met the woman’s eyes.  “Please?”  

She laughed, suddenly seeing that I wasn’t being unduly rude, but truly appalled by the lack of attractive options for what I was heading toward.  Shaking her head, she came closer and offered in a quiet, conspiratorial way, “they are horrible, aren’t they?”  She smiled.  “You should check-”  She gave us the name of a more upscale store a few towns away.  “They tend to have the more fashion forward styles, and they cater to more discerning tastes.”  

I thanked her, but Selma could see that I was too tired to continue shopping.  At the house, she told me to settle on the makeshift lounge she’d made the sofa into, and went to get us some tea.  Well, tea for me, something a bit stronger for her.  

It didn’t smell minty, the steaming cup that she handed me and I raised an eyebrow.  “Chamomile.”  She smiled, taking the chair at my feet.  “If you’re up to it, tomorrow we can try the other store.”  

I took a sip of the tea and waited a beat to see if it would have to make a return appearance.  When nothing happened, I smiled and sighed.  “What if we miss a call, Selma?”  I was worried that I wouldn’t be home, that I’d miss the call that told me I could go back, or that I had nothing to go back to.  

She shook her head and sipped from her glass.  “Then he calls back, Liz.  If it’s important, Sy will make sure he gets it to you, you know that.”  Did I?  It had gone quiet, and fast, and I felt like I was on a seesaw and I was waiting for the other person to kick off the ground so my feet could touch firm land again.  

“I’m worried, Selma, so worried that I can’t do this.”  My hand had gone to my stomach, to the little being inside.  

“You can.”  She was firm.  “You will.  And more important, I think, you want to.”  I met her eyes, and knew that she understood me, possibly better than I did.  

I’d consented to the shopping trip.  I allowed myself to be dragged into the new store, and even agreed to taking a seat and letting the saleswoman bring me samples of their line.  I turned down the offer of champagne, disagreeing with the assurances that it would help with my nausea.  

“The smell,” I frowned, the mere memory of the scent making my bile rise.  “I can’t.”  

Selma asked for seltzer water, for both of us, and the woman rushed off to complete her tasks.  First the drinks, fresh and fizzy she assured us with a perkiness that made me want to throw up, but not for the usual reason.  And then with two other women, carrying several new, yet still tent-like offerings.  I sighed and sat back.  Honestly?

“We were told that your establishment had more-” Selma looked to me for the word she wanted.  

“Attractive,” I supplied, rolling my eyes and taking a sip of my fresh and fizzy consolation prize.  

“Yes, attractive options for an expectant young woman.”  She smiled, knowing that this trip was going downhill fast.  

The saleswoman tried to argue that the fabrics, the prints, were all of a far higher quality, but I cut her off.

“They all have hideous bows, or unnecessary frills.”  I glared at the ‘quality’ sailor suit one was holding.  “Is there nothing with a sleeker line?  A cleaner feel?”  I could see that the saleswomen were finally taking in how I was dressed.  The black dress, my heels, the simple, yet expensive diamond on my finger (a requirement, Selma and I agreed, to cut off the questions or looks).  

“Perhaps,” the one who had greeted us, the one who had brought us the drinks, was running an idea through her head and I could almost smell the gears grinding.  “Give us a moment.”  

“You’re coming back to yourself,” Selma said into her drink.  “This reminds me of the time in Athens.”  I smiled at the memory.  “They kept trying to force the gauzy pastels on you-”

“All bows and roses,” I could almost feel the warm sun on my skin.  The scent of the sea.  “I thought they would cry when I insisted on-”

“Black.  Simple, plain, black.”  It had been what the salespeople had muttered, in Greek, thinking I couldn’t understand.  “When you asserted that you did indeed love plain and simple, I thought their heads would implode.”  

I chuckled and sobered quickly as I saw the group coming back.  “Round two?”  I muttered to Selma and she covered a laugh as a cough.  

“Usually,” the saleswoman started her pitch, “these styles are for the more full bodied clients we cater to, but, with the right adjustments, I think we can make them work for someone preparing for a new addition to their family.”  

Critically, I checked the offerings she’d brought.  Upon first inspection, they looked like regular dresses that hung in every shop a woman could shop in, but when I stood to take a closer look, I realized that first look was deceptive.  They had hems that hid the unhideable.  And-

“What’s this?”  I fingered a block of fabric that was perfectly disguised in the fabric.  

“Panels.”  The saleswoman offered with a smile.  “Added size, that works to hide the size it’s adding.”  Clever. “Is this what you were thinking of?”  

“Possibly.”  I didn’t want to give her too much confidence.  “Are there other patterns?”  Selma and the woman stared at me with shock.  “Colors?”  More silence as they took in my completely black ensemble.  “Do you have this one,”  I pulled the one that had caught my eye and spoke slow and clear as though they were all very dim witted.  “In red.”  

We left and I felt marginally better about the chance that I wouldn’t look like a barge or a sailor as I progressed.  I had the woman’s promise that, should I return to the states, I could call or have a seamstress call with my measurements and they would send my choices to me then.  Of course, it helped that I treated Selma with a few, a lot actually, new selections for her own wardrobe.  Greasing the wheel, so to speak.  

“You look relaxed,” she said, as they carefully packed her purchases into the car.  I nodded, I was tired, but I did feel relaxed.  “Good.”  They closed the boot and she started the car.  “Let’s get you back so you can really rest.”